Hey, Brother
by Galaxyrunner
Summary: Two brothers find themselves thrust into a world (and a war) they didn't know existed. Training to be assassins within the Brotherhood will teach them so much more than fighting skills...if they survive. There's a long road ahead, and who knows what lies at the end? What if there is no end? Only one way to find out. (No slash.)
1. Chapter One: Tables and How to Flip Them

_Author's Note: _Okay, first things first! This is a ROLEPLAY co-written with Sgt. Kittens. It is written in RP-style format. If you're unfamiliar, that means one person posts with their characters, and the next person replies with a post of their own. The only way FF would allow us to differentiate between our sections was by the little _.xxx.'s_, so that's how you'll know the writer has changed (if you can't tell by the characters themselves yet).

Secondly, this is more of a massive nod to Assassin's Creed universe and the Brotherhood in **general**. We didn't start out with lots of plans other than a basic plot, and it has sort of blown up from there. We did not pull from any specific game. Edward Kenway is currently the only character we've incorporated. Otherwise it's a pile of OC's mucking about in assassinry. He does not make an appearance for quite some time, though, so you'll have to hop on for the ride first. We may add in Ezio and/or Altair in the future, but it hasn't been decided yet. We've also messed around with location and mix made-up places with real ones. Our universe is apparently a mismash of Europe and islands. However we haven't used any one location specifically, in case you wondered.

_Thirdly_, and we're sorry for such a long-ass author's note but all this does actually need to be said or you might not have a very fun time (and we don't want that!), because this story started out as just for fun and purely for Kittens and I, we...do what we want. No, really. There might be areas where things are unsaid because we know what happened and didn't write it down as it wasn't necessary for the RP. Characters developed more than we thought they would because they do what they want, too, and so there might be some inconsistencies early on. We've done some editing and tried to cut down on those but they might pop up at some point. You never know. This story also starts out a wee bit silly because again, we were just having a good time, and there are some inside jokes/references you may not get. Sorry in advance. It does get a bit more serious as time goes on. We aren't really looking for critique but feel free to point out typos if you spot them. And if you have questions, ask 'em! We like to talk. Clearly. 

xXx - - **NEW: **Ezio is confirmed to be arriving, though not for a while. We've also been asked to shorten our chapters, but rather than chop up what we've already done, we'll just do that going forward for your convenience and easier reading pleasure. So chapters 1-4 you'll find rather long, and all those that follow after will be an easier mouthful. Thank you! 

Last but not least, we've been asked to post this, so if you like it, please let us know. Otherwise there's no reason to keep uploading chapters since we can go back and re-read it ourselves at any point. This roleplay has been ongoing for months and has a _lot _pre-written so if you _do _like it and you _do _let us know, settle in for the long haul because there's plenty to come!

* * *

_.xxx._

It was raining. Of course it would be raining. It _was _a funeral after all. A mother accompanied by her two young boys stood in the rain looking down at a pine box that held the body of their father-her husband. The younger boy clung to his mother's skirts, his shoulders shook as he gave a small hiccup of a sob every few heartbeats. The older boy lifted his chin and did his best to look strong for his mother and younger brother, but through the rain his tears were still there. Though he tried to be strong, he still leaned against his mother for support.

The priest finished the committal and bowed his head respectfully, offering the family his condolences. Their mother didn't respond. The priest nodded, understanding showing in his face. "If your family needs any assistance, you need only ask. The Church will help in any way it can. I will send the grave keepers to take care of him." With that said, he left the grieving family alone in the rain.

Jillian never spoke, never moved after the priest left. The older boy-DAMIR WE SHALL CALL HIM-had noticed his younger brother's shivering and looked up at his mother. "Mama," he said softly. She didn't respond. "Mama, we have to go home. He's not coming back. We have to go home." He took her hand and tugged gently. Jillian finally responded by looking down at him. Her eyes scared him. There wasn't anything there. No life. He looked quickly away and gave another gentle tug. His mother finally gave in to his gentle tugs and followed her child home, her youngest still clinging tightly to her skirts casting one last look back at the casket.

A month passed and their mother didn't fare much better than she had since the funeral. Her responses were sluggish and she never left their small home. Damir found more responsibilities piling up that he'd never known existed. Cleaning? What was cleaning? He'd tried to let things "clean" themselves like they use to in the past but… it never happened. He had the sneaking suspicion that their mother held that special ability. He dragged his younger brother, Angelius into the task. Angelius whined a lot. Damir whined right back at him. With chores came other realizations. Money seemed to be important. Money and food. Food started vanishing. Fast.

Three months passed and people weren't offering him as many jobs anymore. He needed the money to bring home food for his mother and brother. They could survive without other things for now… He'd already sold almost everything he had. Material things had lost their meaning to him when it came to survival.

At six months Damir made the decision that he hoped would probably keep his brother and good-for-nothing mother alive.

He took a breath and pushed the door open to his mother's room. It creaked as it always had and the sound reassured him. It was both reassuring and disheartening. He had never thought he would leave his home at such a young age. Then again, he had never thought his father would die either. He leaned against the door to shut it behind him. Jillian lay in her bed as she did most days. Unwashed, devoid of emotion, a husk of what she used to be. "Mama, I need to talk to you." Nothing. He sighed. "Mama, this is important. It's about Angelius." She blinked and looked at him. There it was, he knew exactly how to get at least some sort of reaction from her. "Mama, I'm leaving. You _need_ to take care of Angel. There's not enough food for all of us. They're not giving me anymore work around town. You need to get up, you need to take care of your son." Nothing. Anger roared up inside him and before he knew it he was at her bedside and shaking her. "Mama, you _have_ to get up! You can't leave him alone! He needs you! I'm not old enough for an apprenticeship! You have to take care of him!" He let go of her and stepped away, the rage abating. "If you don't…. I'll…" He looked down, his eyes searching as if he could find what he was looking for on the floor. "I'll send someone to come take him away." The words tasted bitter as he spat them at her. He hated the idea of anyone else taking care of his little brother but he had no other idea of what he could say that could convince her to take care of Angelius.

He turned to leave but before shutting the door behind him he looked back at her and said, "I'm leaving tonight, I hope you make the right decision."

_.xxx._

Angelius decided right then and there: he hated rain. Rain was stupid. Rain ruined everything. It rained the day his father died. It rained the day they buried him. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had rained every day after that. Young as he was, he instinctively knew the funeral would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life. The way the water darkened the wood of the casket—the box holding the body of a man who, not long before, had been more than capable of hoisting Angelius into the air, laughing and telling the boys how soon, soon they'd be able to move someplace much nicer. The city, perhaps. Now it was gone. His big dreams, his laugh…everything. A single accident snatched it all away. Damir was all he had left. He knew this, because though Jillian once had paid him…well, _some _attention, she scarcely moved as time went on. Sometimes he had to check to be sure she still breathed. The children had been his responsibility and now that he was no more, so was she.

Damir roped him into cleaning. He didn't like it. Not because it wasn't fun (although it certainly was not), but because the tools were usually too large for his small hands. It was for the same reason, though he followed Damir to town every day in hopes of getting some sort of job—any job!—he was turned away. "Too little," they said, and sometimes laughed. "What good could you possibly do me here?" Of course, it was no help that the town was mostly full of farmers. Farmers who needed strong hands and legs to lift and move heavy bales of hay, or bulging bags of veggies. Angelius had exactly none of those things. Damir was older. Taller. Stronger. Better. And even he was having trouble. So he spent too much time at home, staring out the window or at Jillian, wishing for something to change.

He would quickly regret that wish.

The walls were thin…and he liked to eavesdrop. He was young but not (entirely) stupid—Damir was leaving. Damir had had enough. Damir couldn't take care of them both. He knew that much was true. His belly still clenched, complained and groaned about the meager dinner. At least they'd _had _dinner. What passed for it these days, anyway. Well, one thing was for gosh darn certain. Damir wasn't going to leave him here. Not alone, with the woman with the dead eyes he almost couldn't call mother anymore. Jillian wasn't a mother. Not without Father. So when his older brother thought he was sneaking out, he snuck right along with, mirroring him right down to the little stick and the tiny bag swinging at the end of it. Wasn't like he owned much anymore either. Only the knife their father had given him for his 8th birthday a year ago. How long ago that seemed, now. Too long. What would Jillian do without them? Be happy, he decided, because it was the only option he would allow himself to consider. If he thought about her, sitting alone, slowly wasting away…well. He would have had to stay. And Damir would be gone. Probably forever. He was a jerk like that.

So, he followed, doing his best to sneak along as quietly as possible. If Damir didn't notice, then by the time he did, it'd be too late to turn back! Oh yes, this was a masterful plan indeed. Creepin' creepin' creepin'… and then he heard it. The dreaded voice, the one thing he hoped _not _to hear for another ten minutes or so.

"Angelius? What are you doing?!"

Great. Now he was in for it.

"Coming with you," he said, angling his chin up and squaring his shoulders as if it would make his small body look…less small. "I can't stay with her. She forgets I'm there. You're the only one I have left now, Da…don't leave me behind." His voice trailed off into something of a pathetic plea, but he couldn't help it. He was just a bby, after all.

_.xxx._

Damir stepped forward his hands held up as if to strangle his little brother. Instead… He hesitated, turned and shoved a… TABLE over. (Not tall enough to flip them yet!) The poor table and all of its contents fell over with a crash. Pots, baskets, crates, freaking farmers market all up in here, yo! Everything fell off and either broke, shattered, or rolled away. And it begins…

"Angel! You can't just! You! Mama! She can…" He straightened and glared down at his brother. "Angelius, go home. You can't come with me. You just… You just can't, okay? She won't forget you're there. I talked to her. She will take care of you… or…" He quickly stopped himself from saying what he'd warned his mother what he'd do if she didn't take care of Angelius. He looked down and away, shame in his eyes. "Go home, Angel."

He clenched his hand tightly around the bag he held and fidgeted, hating himself for what he was going to tell his brother next, but he couldn't think of anything else. He couldn't have him coming with… there wasn't any reason for him to… Was there? No, there wasn't. He was too small and wouldn't be able to do any of the jobs where he was going. He tried, _bless his little heart.._. but even the small farm jobs around town could be difficult. "I'll come back for you in a few months, okay? I just have to get some money. For you and Mama." He lied, not meeting his brother's eyes. "Can you wait that long?"

_.xxx._

If he had been his older, slightly more sarcastic self, he would have laughed right in Damir's little face. Probably really loudly, too.

"You talked to mama? You know what happened?" Determined not to cry, he scrubbed his arm furiously across his eyes. "Nothing! You left and she didn't do nothing!" The grammar he'd fought so hard to learn faltered. "She just stayed in her bed and...and..." Angelius coughed and cleared his throat. "Just stared at the wall, you know how she is. I could die in the next room and she wouldn't notice, you _know_ she wouldn't! Father was the only one who cared about us, and you know it, you _know_ it!" Angelius somehow managed to keep from stomping his foot. The last time he had a tantrum, it ended at the broad hand of their father, and he refused to have another. Father wouldn't approve.

He knew he was repeating himself, but he couldn't help it. Damir had to understand. He had to. If he didn't...no. If he didn't, Angel would follow him anyway! He'd grab him by the ankle the way he used to when he was five and force him to drag him all the way to their destination.

The lie nearly broke his nine year old heart. He knew it wasn't true. Damir was a good liar, but Angelius _knew_. Something about his eyes just gave him away. At least to his brother. It might be harder for someone else to tell, but he knew.

"No you won't," he said, his voice beginning to crack with the weight of all the tears pressing against his eyes. "Da, if you go...no one will take me on, you know I've tried! Maybe Jillian," her name sounded strange and stilted on his lips. "Will be able to live without us!" He was too young to know what the words were to name the feeling he had. The feeling that Jillian had never wanted children.

"Just let me come with you," he said, and his voice bordered on begging. "You...you're all I have now." His hands trembled as he stared at his brother, willing him to give in. "Maybe I can find work somewhere else. Not here."

_.xxx._

Damir hissed out a quick short breath as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. He could see the anguish in his little brother's eyes. The look thrust a knife in his heart and twisted. How could he leave him behind with their pathetic excuse for a mother? But then how could he take Angel with him? He didn't even know if he'd be able to find anything in the city for himself… It pained him to see how much weight Angelius had lost. He was too young to be fed so little… they both were.

He flinched when Angelius brought up their father and had to swallow the lump in his throat and blink past the tears in his own eyes. Why was it his responsibility to take care of it all? Why had their mother given up? Despair threatened to take him right then and there and the pack he held slipped from his fingers to the ground with a soft thud. He sniffed once and whispered, "Okay."

He dropped to his knees and hugged his brother tightly, keeping his head turned so that his brother wouldn't see the tears that fell. "Okay." He whispered again.

He swiped a hand over his eyes and could only thank the Gods and little fishies that it was dark so his brother hopefully wouldn't be able to tell that he'd been crying. He sniffled once before pulling away. "But you have to promise that you'll follow my rules. _Every _rule. Got it?" He reached down to pick up his… bag that holds who knows what in it. Some bread crumbs.

_.xxx._

Angelius didn't understand just yet how the weight of responsibility crushed Damir. He would in time. All he knew now was that he wanted his brother, and Damir had taken care of everything since Father died. How could he stop now? All that mattered was that he said yes.

The tears escaped when he did, and Angelius promised himself he'd never cry again.

"I love you, Da," he managed to choke out. Saying those 3 words wasn't hard for him now, the way it tended to be for some folk. Their father had said them freely, and it rubbed off on Angelius. He hugged his brother with as much fierceness as his little body as he possibly could. Which wasn't much. Because he was a shrimp. But not shrimp scampi. Just shrimp. Still, he tried.

"Every rule," he vowed solemnly. "I promise!" It wouldn't be that hard. Surely. Right? At the moment, it didn't matter. He didn't care. He would have followed Damir into hell. Or over the mountains and through the woods. Anywhere. Literally. Even past a turned over table, which he stared at with awe in his eyes. He couldn't imagine being so strong! Damir was legit the Hulk.

_.xxx._

"Yeah, I love you too, Angel." Damir gave his brother a small smile then stopped and sighed. He gently turned Angelius around and guided him back to his own little sack he'd brought and pointed. "You forgot something. I guess the first rule will have to be don't forget your stuff, yeah?" What on _Earth _the little dude had in there he hadn't the slightest idea but… obviously he wanted it so… he bent and picked it up. Continuation of the obligatory good big brotherliness. Carry your little brother's things.

Then of course, as time goes on and as you both realize how freaking _far _the city is… allow your brother the customary piggy back ride no matter how much you want to lie down on the side of the road and whine about how this was probably one of the worst decisions of your life and you should turn around and go back. BUT… but… just as you start tripping over your feet and your brother starts weighing five thousand tons of bricks and begins snoring in your ear… at that _exact _moment… the sun peeks over the horizon.

Damir drew up short. Having grown up in the rural farm town, he'd never seen anything like it. It was like the roads and buildings were made of gold. The sun's rays painted the city in hues of red, gold, and orange. He'd never seen anything like it. He shifted to jostle Angelius awake, "Angel, you're going to blow my ears out and where did you find the food? You weigh more than I do. We're here. Wake up or I'll drop you." He loosened his grip ever so slightly to scare Angelius awake.

_.xxx._

Oh right. Stuff. The knife. Angelius clutched it tight as they began to trudge on. Their father had promised to teach him how to throw it. Of course, that day never came. It was still too big for his hands, really, as most things were, but the big man promised he'd grow into the blade. He hugged it close to his chest and wondered if the whispering of the dagger was just his imagination.

He didn't even remember most of what followed. Nor the way his brother hauled him onto his back after he stalled in the middle of the road, swaying on his feet and eyes closing like he might just collapse right there. He might have, too. He wasn't as strong as Damir. Not yet.

Angelius _did_ remember feeling like he was about to get dropped on his head. "Gack!" He yelped and struggled awake, blinking through bleary eyes at the sunrise-stricken city. "I can walk," he mumbled, wondering how on earth he got up there in the first place. Had they traveled through time? That would make the most sense. The buildings glittered and threatened to blind him as he wriggled to the ground. His knees wobbled and began to refuse standing, but he locked them and shook his head, sending curls flying about his face as he tried his best to shove the sleep from his brain. He always did have unruly hair.

"Pretty," he said, because he had the vocabulary of...well, a young boy. "Now what?" he asked, a note of eagerness entering his voice as he looked to Damir for direction. They were together, and with the city sparkling beneath them like spun gold, he suddenly felt like they could do anything. Become anything. Later, he would remember this moment with startling clarity-and wonder how Damir even managed to get them there. As it was, he hadn't even realized his brother had been awake all night, having no one to carry _him_ down the long road to the city. But Damir was invincible. Clearly. Hulk + Superman = Damir.

_.xxx._

Without the weight of Angelius on his back, Damir nearly fell flat on his face and fell asleep right there. Pretty city or no. He staggered, but managed to right himself quickly. "Um." He looked around and rubbed at the back of his neck. A sick feeling that had nothing to do with hunger settled in the pit of his stomach.

He closed his eyes and took a cleansing breath. "Okay. Okay. Um. Let's go see what we can find in…" He was going to say 'The Middle' but that sounded stupid and… can't sound stupid in front of little brothers. Right? Right. "Let's just go see if there's anything at the market." He waved his hands around his head as if warding off flies in frustration. _Pfft! Whatever! That place!_ Where the market was, he had no clue. He saw some people heading into the city and decided, hey, they look like they know where they're going. Let's follow them. "C'mon." He beckoned to Angelius and with brother in tow, entered the city.

_.xxx._

Angelius wouldn't have cared if he had said "the moon" or "that circley thing" or "that...round...blob in the middle." He just wanted to _go, _and go _now! _He practically bounded along behind Damir, suddenly infused with so much energy you would have seriously thought he slept a solid 8 hours on a full tummy, and then had a complete breakfast. With copious amounts of sugar. It was as if the sun paved the golden way for them, and as he stepped onto stone-real stone!-he felt something inside him change, and shift. This place was...well. Magical. The air tingled with shimmering dust motes and gradually began to fill with sound as the city came alive right before their eyes. Stalls were being erected for the market. Their wares already infused the air with flavor. The sharp, sweet smell of fresh apples, the sting of spices just picked from gardens...it was all surreal, almost dreamlike.

He noticed the oddest things. As they moved through the steadily growing crowd, he stuck close to Damir and watched, mouth hanging open. Till he caught a fly and remembered to close it, anyway. The rocks, slowly beginning to warm beneath his feet, made him acutely aware of how thin his shoes were. He hadn't ever noticed before. His gaze flitted from the gleaming windows to the sturdy leather shoes on the more well-to-do patrons already swarming the stalls. Angelius wanted those things. He wanted the fine clothes and the boots keeping the sure-to-be soft and squishy feet inside safe from the stone streets. The scents, the fine leather purses...all of it. Of course, once he grew he'd realize that strong smells actually were not an assassin's best friend, but at the moment, he wanted to smell like spice and soap and cinnamon. Not dirt, farm and more dirt. With a little extra dirt on the side. But more than he wanted these things for himself, he wanted them for Damir. Watching his brother from the corner of his eye, he envisioned Damir, dressed in the glorious robes of the elegant men, with a grin on his face and a twinkle (yes, he totally went there) in his eye. Under his… eyebrow. He ducked, just in case the eyebrow was coming back. You never know.

_Maybe someday, _he thought, fingers clenching tighter around the wrapped dagger in his hands. _We'll have it all...and more. _The smell of freshly baked bread assaulted his nostrils with its deliciousness, and his stomach growled. Knowing they didn't have money, he wisely kept his mouth shut. But his eye wandered to it as they inched by, and he wondered how easy it would be to swipe one if nobody was looking. But first, they needed a place to stay. And then...adventure! Or sleep for Damir. One of the two.

"Damir," he ventured. "Are you tired?" No, he just stayed up all night and carried you like a sack of potatoes to the city. Drinking Monsters all the way. He's good. A dark alley _loomed_ (_TROOOLLLLL IN THE DUNGEON_) just ahead, and he nudged his older brother, feeling suddenly protective, like Damir had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and it was his turn, now. Ow. Dang. World stuff is heavy.

_.xxx._

The sights. The smells. The amazingness. It all was pretty legit to Damir as well… but he was just so darned tired. Sure, if he'd probably been a little older he would have been able to shake it off a little easier, but he hadn't planned on his brother coming along. He could have taken a break just outside of the city and slept or. Something. But. It hadn't turned out that way, obviously, and he was stuck with his decision. Hello there, adulthood. How ya doing? He looked down at Angelius and couldn't help but smile at the excitement emanating from his tiny little body.

Angel wasn't really a burden-challenge and responsibility he may be-but never a burden. Damir sighed and leaned against a nearby wall, out of the way of the people-traffic. He rested his cheek on the stones. "Yeah, Angel." He sighed, not bearing to lie to his brother again as he had earlier. The boy closed his eyes and started in surprise a moment later afraid that he'd fallen asleep, leaving his brother alone. Okay. _That's _not happening. He grabbed his brother by the wrist and led him to the alley they had seen earlier. (_TROOOLLLLL IN THE DUNGEON!_)

Damir put his back to the wall and slid down it until he was sitting with his knees tucked up against his chest. "Angelius, I need to sleep a little. Okay?" He looked up at his brother, hoping he understood. Fear of what might happen while he was asleep and his brother alone made him feel cold. He rubbed his arms. "I need you to stay right here next to me and if anyone comes, wake me up. Okay? You promise?" He searched his brother's eyes, willing him to obey him. The townspeople around their home had scared him into the danger of the city and the people that lived there. He wasn't going to take any chances and… No. Just no. If he had anything available he would have tied Angelius to his leg so nobody would take him while he slept.

_.xxx._

"I'll watch over you," Angel said, and tried not to feel guilty about the lie. Of course, he _would _watch over his brother. In a minute. After he went to ...do something. That he was, in no way, going to tell Damir about beforehand. Despite his penchant for eavesdropping, he hadn't heard those stories about the city. What could possibly be so bad about it? Everything was beautiful. Glowing. Perfect. _Right. _This was where they were meant to be. While he'd never forget the father he loved so dearly, Jillian was already gone from his mind. Neener. Neener neener.

"Promise I'll wake you up if anyone comes," he hedged. He wasn't as good at lying as Damir was. Luckily for his little scheming body, Damir was so tired he probably would have just passed out right there in the shade. Angelius sat next to him for a long moment as his brother dropped off to sleep. It wouldn't hurt to wait a while. Maybe an hour. Possibly two. Not that telling time was the easiest thing here, as the high walls and homes blocked the sun and the rudimentary knowledge he had was already failing him. Still, Damir would be out for a while since he got god-modded off to sleep, and there was time. Even he dozed a little, leaning against Damir's sturdy shoulder.

_But then!_ He snapped awake, jolted rudely from a dream about a lovely bunny and assassin doom by the snarling and rumbling of his belly, which was not happy at all about the long wait without food. His eyes shot to the sky. It was still clear as a blue diamond, but the shadows had grown longer as the sun meandered along its path. The market. It'd be near to ending now, wouldn't it? Glancing furtively at his brother, he tucked the dagger behind his back. Because a thief would totes go after that first. Yes. "I'll be back," he whispered, so quietly he almost didn't hear his own voice. Then he scurried away. He could do this. He could help. For once, he could help. Never mind that what he was about to do was oh so illegal. That small fact would have to be ignored. The market stalls were still crowded, but not like they had been earlier in the morning. A woman stood guard over the table heaped with bread. The freshest, nicest, prettiest loaves were long gone and those with less money stood haggling furiously with her over the remainder. He moved closer, adopting an air of curiosity. Not thievery. Because. That would be counterproductive. But how was he supposed to get a loaf off the table without anyone noticing? Fate must have been smiling on him, however, because a distraction provided itself as a dog began to bark furiously at a short woman whose bosom was, shall we say, ridiculously overstuffed. With tomatoes. And bread. And candy. Yup. It was actually almost frightening. But as everyone turned to look, Angelius darted forward with nerves of steel he hadn't known existed, snatched a fat loaf of bread, and disappeared into the crowd, back towards the alley where Damir slept.

He didn't notice the shadow.

Scurrying to Damir's side, he hoped his older brother had gotten enough sleep. Should he wake him now? Angel hesitated a moment, and then shook his shoulder gently, waving the bread under his nose. "Damir," he said excitedly. "Look!"

_.xxx._

Damir mumbled something and turned away, waving his hand to push away Angelius's hand. "Don't, Angel. Not today. I'm too tired." It took him another moment before he started awake, "Angelius! Are you okay? What's going on?" With his abrupt motion to sit up, he bonked his nose on the bread. "Ow, what is that?" He pushed Angelius's hand further away so he could examine what was being waved in his face. He blinked and then his eyes widened. "Where did you get that?" He asked softly.

"Angelius, where did you get that? And, somebody didn't just come down here and drop it in your lap!" He stood up, looming over his little brother. "You promised me you wouldn't leave my side, Angel! You promised!" He snatched the bread from his brother's hand. "Where did you get it?" He growled, holding it in front of his brother's face, accusing. "You don't have any money, so where did you get it?"

_.xxx._

It was...not the voice he was looking for. He could practically feel those steely nerves shrivel up into sad squishy little blobs, which then disappeared entirely. For a moment, he just looked between Damir and the bread, wondering what the best way to reply was. Found it? No, Damir might actually beat him with it if he lied now. And then the bread _and_ his face would be sad. But why was he so mad, anyway? They didn't have money. They didn't have food. Damir had no way to _get_ either of those things yet and he didn't know if there was anyone here who could use him. If the farmers couldn't, would the cityfolk? Angel felt his stomach sink. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. He'd been so concerned with what might happen to him if he stayed home and lost his brother forever that he hadn't even thought about what would happen if he couldn't get work here, either. And if Damir was going to get upset over the uh...unconventional ways to find food...well… The super hopeful happy bubble popped and he felt himself shrink. As if he could get smaller. Poor shrimpy.

"We needed food," he said, deciding to go with the truth because what the heck else is he gonna do? While the certainty from earlier didn't come back, he cleared his throat and tried to square his shoulders because well, he'd done it, and frankly, he didn't regret it. Okay, maybe a little, what with the way his brother was staring at him with the disapproval and...maybe disappointment? In his eyes. Stealing _was _wrong, he knew that. Against the rules. And usually, he liked following the rules. But when the choice came down to helping his brother, all bets were off! Besides, he so rarely deviated from the rulebook...couldn't he have an exception, just this once?"I don't know if anyone will hire me here," he added, hoping maybe some extra truth would sway Damir. "And I just...wanted to help and anyway it's not really fresh anymore, it probably would have gotten thrown away, I just...toook it," he said, drawing out the word as his sentence threatened to overflow into massive-run-on territory. "Before it could get there, that's all, really Damir no one even noticed and…"

Ah, famous last words indeed. The alleyway darkened further as four boys, all older, taller, and meaner-looking than guard dogs, came towards the two of them.

"No one noticed, huh?" The apparent leader spoke first, his lips twisted in a sneer that really did not look good on his already pretty ugly face. "You think we wouldn't notice you stealing, on _our _turf? You idiots must be new here." Harsh laughter set off an uneasy feeling in Angel's stomach. Oops. Darn. Dang. Hadn't thought of that. And now he'd gotten them both in trouble. He kept an eye on the wrapped dagger, still nestled where he'd left it.

"I'm sorry," he ventured, and the boys only cackled. Like. Little witches. Yup. "I didn't know," he added, because he hadn't yet realized it didn't matter what he said. These were street boys, and they were not very nice individuals. Nor productive parts of society. So.

"You will be," the tall kid said, and took a step forward. DUN DUN DUNNN.

_.xxx._

Damir's look softened-but only slightly-at Angelius's words. There was truth to them. He had thought of that possibility himself. Would Angelius be able to find any work? That had always been a possibility but Damir had assumed that he would be able to take on enough work to provide enough for the both of them, but would he truly be able to?

His thoughts were interrupted by the four boys entering the alleyway and killing their private conversation. Damir stepped in front of Angelius and pushed his brother further behind him. "He didn't know." He repeated Angelius's words in a louder more confident tone. The boys were definitely taller than both Angelius and Damir. A lot taller and had muscle. Barely a trace of the baby fat still lingered on both Damir and Angelius despite how much weight they had lost. "You can have it back." He stepped forward to meet the tallest kid halfway, offering the bread.

The kid laughed and knocked the bread from Damir's hand and gave him a shove. Damir stumbled backward and was able to angle himself just enough to miss Angelius. He fell and landed hard next to his brother. Gasping, he grabbed Angel by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shove in the opposite direction. "Angel, run!" He shouted, but one of the other boys grabbed at the younger boy and caught him around the midsection.

Damir's blood ran cold and he lunged at _that _guy's legs which brought him down hard. The other boys were on top of him and the fight began. _Dun dun dun_. Any and all dignity went out the window… but then of course Damir had never been taught how to fight. So there was biting and scratching and kicking. He pried the kid's hands away from his brother and continued urging Angel to run as the other boys kicked at him and kept reaching for the younger boy.

Someone's elbow flew back and clipped Damir in the chin. Stars swarmed his vision and he shook his head to try and rid himself of them. Then there was a sharp whistle… and he frsrs thought he had passed out because the fighting had stopped.

"What is the meaning of this?" A soft baritone said. Almost a whisper and yet it seemed to echo up and down the alleyway with power.

_.xxx._

Things moved fast. Too fast, really. How was his brain supposed to process all of this? One second Damir was standing, and the next… he couldn't even think. There just wasn't time. Except for those obnoxious little thoughts that flitted through his head before he shut them down. Like "why wouldn't they want the bread back?" and "wtf is their issue?!" They were on him and Damir like black on pavement, and pretty soon he was well acquainted with the very hard ground beneath his head. It wasn't as if either of them knew how to fight, really. But Angelius had a knife. And even though Damir kept telling him to run, there was no way in hell he would leave his brother there with a dog pile determined to bury him in punches and elbows. So he dove for the dagger. For once, his size paid off as he easily wriggled out of the clutches of his would-be captor and flung aside the thin cloth wrapping concealing the blade. Holding it in both hands, he whipped back around toward the single boy following him. Being so small, it wasn't as if it would take more than one.

"Oooh, the angel has a knife," he taunted, fanning himself with one hand as though he was truly frightened. "Do you even know how to use that?" Angel looked past him to the scuffle with Damir, where his older brother actually wasn't doing too terribly, considering ¾ were piled on his face and possibly even trying to kill him.

"Get away," he said, and was surprised by the steadiness of his own voice. The boy, a startled look on his face, did take a step back-but the gratification Angel felt was immediately stifled by that cold, rolling-thunder voice. Oh. _Shit_. Naturally, he did what little brothers usually do best.

He told on them.

"I...took some bread from the marketplace," he admitted, first telling on himself so the towering man would (hopefully) not punch him right in the face for not telling the whole truth. It was less likely the pack of tards would have attacked them otherwise, anyway. The older boys began to untangle themselves from the pile, very slowly, as if this single adult could dismantle their bodies piece by piece before they could even hope to get away. Perhaps he could. Angel swallowed hard and continued. "And I didn't know it belonged to anyone—well, I mean, other than the lady," he amended, since he _did_ know it had been stealing from her, at least. "I guess they didn't like it." He finished lamely, being too concerned about Damir to formulate a better story. "But Damir was going to give it back!" he added, because that was important. Truly, his brother hadn't done a bad job for being buried beneath three boys all older and stronger than he. One was nursing what was probably a broken nose, and the other two were already showing bruises. He felt a brief surge of pride for Damir, though it was quickly followed by guilt, as this was all his fault. "I'm sorry," he whispered, lowering the dagger as the realization hit him. _Every rule. _Tears welled up in his eyes and he fought them, not wishing to break his no-crying vow already. But it was gonna happen. Sadly. Which is why one should not make rules about these things!

_.xxx._

Damir pushed himself to his feet and moved to keep himself between the man + jerktards and his brother once more. An ugly bruise was already forming along his jaw where he'd been clipped by someone's _fat elbow_ which had resulted. Blood trickled from a split and swollen lip. Ugh. He hurt all over and wanted to sit back down on the ground and just… hurt some more. Instead, he lifted his chin and stared the man down. Even though… he couldn't really see his eyes through the shadows of the hood he wore... "My brother was hungry. You heard him, he's sorry." It hurt to speak with the nice the fresh wound to his mouth.

The man looked at the other boys and they seemed to shrink under his look. "Is this true?"

The tallest boy started to answer but the man backhanded him and all the other boys scattered except for the tallest boy who stumbled back, but found his balance after a moment or two. The man don't take no crap _nor _answers from them apparently. "You know the rules. If I see you acting like this again I will kill you myself, Terrence."

He watched Terrence skitter away with a cold statuesque… aura about him because you know. Can't really see his face. At all. He pulled his hood back when he turned to look at the two remaining boys. He had rough features and dark blonde hair. There were a few long scars that adorned his face and an especially ugly one that ran from the bridge of his nose to his jaw. He stared the boys down.

Damir swallowed and took a half step back, holding a hand out in front of Angelius as if that would further shield his brother. The man lunged forward and seized Damir by the front of his… shirt? Smock? Clothing that covered his torso! Damir yelped and reached for the man's wrist. He struggled to push the man away but he just wasn't quite strong enough. "Let me go!"

The man gave Damir a once-over holding him there and letting the boy struggle then gave a fraction of a nod before letting go. Just because it's fun to scare little boys and he hadn't had his fill with the other boys. Or something.

"Look at me."

Damir glared up at him, "Why?" Not realizing that he had just obeyed the man.

He studied the boy. It surprised him how long it took for Damir to avert his eyes in discomfort. He studied the younger boy in much the same fashion and, though he averted his eyes a few seconds sooner than the older boy had, he had the same challenging look. The hooded man circled the boys slowly.

"What are you doing?" Damir finally demanded, tired of the man prowling around them like some predator.

"Observing." The man replied simply. "Your style is sloppy. Have you been trained?"

"Trained to what?" Damir asked as if the man were stupid.

"To fight." The man said in much the same tone.

"No," he replied.

That drew an eyebrow to… well not quite the moon and back to Shang Li's butt. _Not quite_. "Would you like to be trained?"

Damir hesitated and looked back at Angelius. What use would it be to learn how to fight? That wouldn't bring them any food or money. Maybe some protection if they did pick up the life of crime that Angelius seemed to have brought down upon them. "No." He said quietly.

"Why?" The man asked, surprised.

"Because… that won't get me and my brother anywhere except in more trouble."

"What if I told you I would provide you with a home. Clothes. Food." He had already noticed how thin both boys were and guessed that they were probably orphans. And _duh_. The younger one had stolen bread most likely to try and feed the both of them. _Hint, hint_. He patiently waited for an answer as the eldest of the brothers looked down at the younger, an air of distrust about him. Admittedly, he wouldn't trust him either.

_.xxx._

Hell. Yes. Their attackers ran like little scared mice and Angel couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Even though he had absolutely nothing to do with it. But when that man turned toward them... Angel suppressed a shiver. So the bread was his? _What have I done?_ He asked the sky, and wished he could reverse time and put the stupid bread right back on the stupid table with the other stupid loaves of tempting yeasty goodness. Anything to go back and take away the terrible trouble he had put them in. No, he corrected himself, that he'd put _Damir_ in. The wish only echoed louder in his mind as the man hoisted Damir by his torso-covering. He knew he wouldn't stand a chance if he rushed the adult, for he didn't seem like the kind of person who would be easily caught by surprise. Angel edged closer instead, fingers tightening on the knife and silently swearing to sink it into the man's friggin pinky toe if that's what it would take to get him to put Damir down.

However, pinky toe stabs were thankfully unnecessary as he lowered Angel's brother to the ground again. As he locked eyes with the scarred man, he couldn't help but feel as if he were staring down a dangerous animal. A tiger, perhaps. And wasn't that supposed to be a bad thing? He drew closer to Damir as the guy began to circle them in a needlessly creepy fashion. The conversation held his full focus. Trained to fight? And given food and clothes? He thought about the nasty boys and wondered what it might have felt like to defend himself. To not worry, knowing his skills or Damir's would be plenty enough to handle the situation. But when Damir looked at him that way, he felt ashamed all over again. He had done a bad thing. And it wasn't so much that he had taken the bread, but that he had disobeyed his brother and left him alone. Possibly even vulnerable. He considered what might have happened if the boys had stumbled upon Damir first.

The thought shook him down to the deepest parts of his soul. He suddenly wished with all his might for the skills the man was offering.

"We... _I_ wouldn't have to steal, "he suggested helpfully, totally contributing to this epic convo."We could protect each other." He meant it, too, although sometimes he wondered if he would ever grow out of the tiny body that put him at such a disadvantage. Turning hopeful eyes on Damir, he waited anxiously for a decision.


	2. Chapter Two: Pay Attention!

Protect each other. Damir closed his eyes at those words. How helpless he had felt when the boys held him down and he couldn't keep them away from his little brother. Oh, he knew Angelius wouldn't run like he'd told him to. Stupid. So stupid. He didn't dare look down at his brother. He knew it would only upset him if he saw any of the cuts and bruises that he knew he now sported.

The man, that we shall finally name because calling him man is boring, Conrad, Conrad the man. Man Conrad. He saw the change of heart in the eldest boy's stance before he said anything. "Good."

Damir blinked his eyes open and stared. "Good what?"

"For deciding to join me. Now. Boy." He held out his hand to Angelius. "Give me that, you do not have any use for it right now."

Damir stepped forward as if to continue to argue even though Conrad seemed to have already finished the conversation and left him and it in the dust.

Angel stepped back, gripping his dagger tightly and shook his head.

"That's his, you can't take it." Damir said, coming to his brother's aid, though he had NO clue where Angel had gotten the dagger.

Conrad sighed and deftly plucked the dagger from Angelius's fingers. Angel shouted at him angrily and jumped after it. Damir lunged at Conrad in an attempt to grab the dagger but the man planted his foot on Damir's chest and gave a gentle kick sending the boy flying backward. Damir landed a few feet back in a heap gasping for air and staring up at the sky. Okay. Ow. Didn't the man _just _say he was going to provide food, clothing, house, all that nice homely stuff for them and he just _kicked _him? What the actual WHAT? Damir sat up on his elbows more angry than hurt. "What was that for?!"

Conrad tucked Angel's dagger in a sash that wrapped around his waist and Damir noticed the gleam of other knives stowed there. "I said," he reached down and pulled Damir to his feet by the front of his SHIRT (he's got a yellow shirton.) making him feel like a small child. "That your brother has no use for it right now." He looked back at Angelius. "You will only hurt yourself or someone else. Like your brother here. When you know how to use it, I will return it to you."

Conrad raised an eyebrow and gave Angelius a pointed look. "Is that understood?"

_.xxx._

He felt as if a part of himself had been removed. As if the manly man named Conrad had just snatched it away. Well, technically he had. In fact, he'd tucked it away before his very eyes. But in that moment, as he met those dangerous eyes again, he didn't see Conrad. He saw his father, and his spine straightened. It was true. The handle was too bulky for his hands and he would have never tried to actually use it if not for the attack. In fact, he wouldn't have even been carrying it around if not for their father's untimely death in the first place. Damir's valiant defense ended in a swift kick to the chest, sending him and his yellowshirton flying. A guilty pang echoed through his heart. Would every blow his brother took for him resonate this way? Damir's bloodied face didn't help with the way his chest ached. Well. His older brother couldn't protect him forever. He would have to do that for himself, too. So they could watch out for each other...so Da didn't have to be so alone in taking care of them. Angel felt the shift in his chest as he stared at Conrad so intently he might have shot laser beams right through those shifty almost-to-the-moon eyebrows of his. He'd recognize that feeling as "growing up," later on, and marvel at how much of it he'd be doing in the coming years. He shot his brother a grateful look, and then his suddenly steely gray-blue eyes settled back on Conrad's face.

"My father gave me that," he said, and marveled that his voice didn't shake or crack. Thank whatever gods were smiling on him. That would have been beyond embarrassing. "He said he'd teach me to throw it someday." Angelius didn't know that the knife wasn't weighted or balanced for throwing, that it would lean sharply to the left once flying through the air, and that the blade was surely not of very fine steel. Conrad would know. But it wouldn't have mattered to Angel. For only days after he'd spoken those words to his youngest son, John had been found dead, and it was the only thing he had left. Stepping forward, wondering where the hell this sudden braveness was coming from as a tiny voice in the back of his head screamed (TROLLLLL IN THE DUNGEON) for him to just run, ditch Damir's butt and run like hell and _hope_ the scary man doesn't eat you when he catches you because you know he _will_, Angel grimly stuck out his hand.

Because a man is only as good as his word, and since he didn't have a knife anymore, all he had was a handshake. Well, it had been good enough for John. Maybe it would be good enough here. "Your word?" he asked, and inwardly scowled at the little bitty bby unicorn tremor that threaded his voice. What if the man said NO SCREW YOU CHILD IT'S MINE BOY MINE FOR THE TAKING and ran away? What if he just said "no." There would be nothing in this great big world he could do about it. Not until he grew up. Whenever the hell that was going to be. And even then, he couldn't imagine himself attacking Conrad. Well. Not attacking and winning, anyway. An important distinction when evaluating future foes. It would become a skill of his. So he just waited, and hoped to those same gods who were lending him the spine of steel that Conrad would shake his hand, say ok, and they could just...go to wherever happy hole he'd come out of.

_Please_, he begged silently. _Just say yes_.

The notion that Conrad couldn't be taken at his word never even crossed his mind.

_.xxx._

Conrad couldn't help but smile at the boy. He acted far beyond his years. He grasped the boy's hand in a gentle grip. His hand enveloped the boy's tiny delicate fingers in comparison to his. SO SMALL AND TINY. But there was promise there, just as he could see in his eyes. "I promise." In examining the knife later, he would see the flaws there, but he _would_ teach the boy to throw the knife. This was a promise he would not break. BECAUSE REDUNDANCY IN THIS PARAGRAPH IS NOT ENOUGH.

Damir watched the exchange surprised at how his brother stepped up to the man. How much older he seemed when he challenged the guy. I mean, it made _him_ feel like a little kid. Well that's rude. Here he was getting tossed and kicked around by a bunch of other kids and the guy. The kid gets a handshake. A freaking handshake. He sighed and dusted himself off. Not to mention, Father had given Angelius a dagger. He couldn't help but feel a little hurt by that. Sure, he knew that… Father maybe felt comforted that Angelius would have that extra protection? But what about him? He didn't have anything… He was bigger, older. That was probably why… Yeah.

Conrad's words drew him away from his sulky thoughts. "-rules."

Damir looked up. Of course. Adults always had those. "What?"

Conrad shook his head and walked out of the alleyway without looking back, expecting the boys to follow. He looked back at Damir, annoyance evident on his face before repeating himself. "There is a code that I expect all of the Brotherhood to follow. Violation of these may and can result in execution." He paused and looked back at the boys for dramatic effect. Damir stopped and looked up at Conrad, unable to keep from swallowing slowly. "Because you are both children, you have additional rules that you will be expected to follow. Punishment will be enforced, of course. I do not tolerate disobedience, so learning the rules quickly will be vital to your training."

He slithered through the crowd still expecting the boys to keep up. And if they couldn't. They better find him fast or they were screwed.

Damir panicked for a moment when he thought he lost sight of Conrad in the crowd of people. He grabbed hold of his little brother's SHIRT and hauled him onward after the adult. But the flash of the white hood brought a flood of relief to his heart, and soul, and body, and mind. And everything. BAM. It was only logical. Just like needing a username and password.

They finally broke through the crowd where Conrad was waiting for them, his hood drawn up again. They were at the outskirts of the city which made Damir second guess what he had just gotten them into. All the stories the farmers had told him. They were gonna be kidnapped, killed, and dumped on the side of the road. Yup.

Conrad gave a short, shrill whistle and two horses trotted over to him nuzzling at his chest. He patted each horse's neck fondly and then hoisted Angelius up onto one's back, Damir the other. He handed the reins to Damir and positioned the boy's hands, "Hold tight, don't pull back, pull up if you wish for her to stop." Damir nodded, eyes wide with uncertainty.

Conrad swung himself up behind Angelius and clucked his tongue a few times. He gave a gentle kick of his legs, leaned forward and HIYAH! HI-HO! OFF TO KILL WE GO 8D

And because we cannot write horsies very well and we do not want our friend to kill us with our failure… we zoom forward to Brotherhood Central because I do not want to write that journey because of reasons and idles are stupid and that is not fair. ANYWAY. The ride was short, by Conrad's estimation. For Damir on the other hand, it could have been FIVE MILLION YEARS. The jostling of the ride was extremely uncomfortable for one. _Secondly_, it was terrifying. The horse was too big for him. The ground looked way too far away for his liking and he thought he would surely be trampled if he fell off. Damir recognized that he preferred his feet planted firmly on the ground. None of this horse business. It _also_ made him realize why he'd never followed after the other kids in scrambling up trees, or up into the hayloft of barns. Not since he'd fallen out of the tree he and Angel had been climbing on. Heights were not his friend. He closed his eyes and hoped the horse would follow after the man's without his direction.

Damir hadn't realized they'd stopped until he was being dragged off the horse and his hands pried free of the reins. Conrad clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder to steady him. "Easy, Damir."

Damir blinked a few times and looked up at the man, "How do you know my name?" The assassin gestured to his younger brother as if that explained everything.

U HEAR NOTHING WHEN U ON HORSE, DAMIR. In the interest of letting other people reply and not taking five million more years, the day had grown… late. Because you can grow late and long shadows stretched across the ground. "I will show you where you both will sleep for tonight. We will go over the grounds tomorrow. Feel free to explore for the rest of the evening, but if you get lost, be prepared to stay there until I, or someone else comes and finds you." He led the boys to what looked like a small housing complex and opened a door so the boys could see a small bedroom with basic bedding needs. No actual beds just some padding and blankets. "Welcome to the home of the Brotherhood. We are the leading guild of assassins. Here you will train to be assassins and eventually join our ranks as one. My name is Conrad, you will call me Conrad until I accept you both as apprentices. At that point, it will be Master Conrad. Goodnight." He left the boys to their own…. fun adventures or sleep times. Silent like… the… night. Or something. :}

_.xxx._

Angel could have thrown himself on the ground and praised any of the many gods who might have still been paying attention to the odd little group. _He said yes, he said yes, he said yeeees! _He practically sang in his little mind, resisting the urge to. I dunno. Do a jig. Or. Something celebratory. He felt like he'd just faced down the dragon and won. (He fought the law and...He won!) But as Damir rose, he cast his brother something of an apologetic look. He hadn't been knocked across the alley, and he'd gotten a handshake in exchange for the knife. Come to think of it, why had Father given him a blade, but set aside nothing for his eldest son? Had he thought Damir capable already, whereas Angel needed extra protection because he was a shrimpy McShrimp in a BigMac box? He kept expecting his brother to reveal a gift John left just for him, but as time went on he realized it wasn't happening because Damir hadn't gotten one. Would that hurt his feelings? How would _he _have felt if their Father had given Damir something, but left him out instead? Before he could chase that thought further down the rabbit hole where certain guilt awaited him, Conrad began speaking of rules. And Angel loved to know what rules were...usually so he could follow them. Except for the bread thing. Seriously, that was a one-off incident.

But wait...execution?! _Whaaat_ oh no sir you just back this bus right _uuup_ what do you mean, execution? Like dead? Like really dead? What rule could someone _possibly _break that would be cause to knock their head off? He could already see the way they'd roll. Literally. Across the floor. Like coconuts. He shuddered. Ick. Was this a good idea, really? _Really_? Was it too late to take it back? Changing one's mind was still possible, right? He practically clung to Damir as they raced after the scary-ass man. Who might someday kill one or both of them. Great. Seemed like a good idea at the time? Perhaps they should turn tail and run away OHSHIT nope horses dang darn son of a—Angel bit his lip and tried to make the thoughts go away. If there were rules, and the rules were followed, there'd be no dying, he reasoned. And he'd be _sure _to follow those ones. All of them. Completely. Like 100%. For real, this time.

Before he knew it, he was being hoisted onto the back of a pretty pony. Annnd the terrifying man was sitting behind him OH GOD HE'S GONNA EAT MEEEEE. Feeling as though his heart was going to beat right out of his puny little chest, he wrapped his fingers in the horses' silky mane and clung to it like a little barnacle. A really determined-not-to-die-right-this-second barnacle. It didn't take too long for him to realize Conrad hadn't put them on horses just to fling them off into the countryside by their necks, and so he began to relax. The big man didn't ask many questions. Mostly because he didn't need to. At any slight hint of conversation, Angel's nerves prompted him to...well. Volunteer any information he felt was necessary. Unfortunately, he did like to talk, and it was not serving him well in this situation. Even as he frantically tried to shut himself up, his mouth just...kept...doing that thing it was doing. He shot the man the most guilty, apologetic look in the universe as he found himself on the ground again, because dear lord this was not a man whose ear you wanted to talk off. He was surprised they were still attached. Unlike the eyebrows.

Really, the room wasn't all that bad, especially compared to the little home they'd come from in the first place. For a moment, he just stared in silence. Exploring. Right. He liked to explore. But Damir had been woken up from...not much sleep and then promptly dragged across the country. Oh and punched. Like a few times. Courtesy of his lovely younger brother. So, the first thing he did was turn to said brother. "I'm sorry about the bread, Da," he said, wishing there was a hole he could crawl into. "I shouldn'ta dunnit." There goes that grammar again. Stellar student, you are! "I didn't mean to get you into...into…" He looked around and shrugged. Whatever the heck 'this' was. Plus a fight. Don't forget about the fight. Granted, based on Conrad's reaction to the little jerks, it never should have happened, but Damir still hadn't been exactly pleased to see his little brother wagging a stolen loaf of contraband in his face. The grounds were beautiful though, and he wondered what all belonged to Conrad. (Everything the light touches?) Exploring, however, was the last thing on his mind. Getting lost didn't sound fun and the last time he'd gone off on his own, well..._this_ had happened, and he was afraid of setting off an explosion or something if he dared try his luck again.

_.xxx._

Damir stepped into the small room and leaned against the wall just beside the door, leaving it open. He tucked his hands behind his back and just stared at the opposite wall and sighed. His shoulders slumped with the motion as if the weight of the past day and a half was finally giving way and visibly weighting them down. His hands dropped to his side and he winced, when had he been hit there? He thought the aches would go away but they were only getting worse. This was the first real fight he'd ever been in. He didn't like it. He touched two fingers to the dried blood on his lip and grimaced then sighed again. Woe is me. He finally looked at his little brother. "It's…" He swallowed and tried again. "It's okay Angel. I understand that you were trying to be nice. It wasn't your fault that those bullies followed you." He tried to give his brother a small smile but it only hurt his lip and fresh blood oozed there. He frowned and wiped at it angrily.

He sat down cross-legged on the blankets and plush padding. "What do you say? Do you want to go exploring, get lost, then wait for daddy Conrad to come get us in the morning and yell at us?" A mischievous glint showed in his blue eyes, tired though they were.

_.xxx._

He watched his brother closely, and couldn't help the morbid curiosity that came with wondering what it felt like to be…well, beat up. He'd been lucky enough to escape with only some soreness around his middle where he'd been grabbed. Of course, with the way Conrad talked about training and all, it wouldn't be long before he found out. Folding his arms, he inspected the room again to avoid looking too closely at the fresh blood on Damir's face.

"Shoulda noticed," he said half-heartedly. But how could he have even known to look for a sneaky jerkball following him, anyway? Especially in a crowded city, the likes of which he'd never seen before. Nor Damir, of course, but Damir hadn't been boneheaded enough to go get himself followed by a group of douchebags who liked to pummel people smaller than themselves. The word 'exploring' perked him up visibly, but then he cast a suspicious look at the open door.

"I don't know," he said uncertainly. "Are you sure it's a good idea?" The notion of Conrad being anywhere near the word 'daddy' made him decidedly uncomfortable, so he just avoided it. Because that's what you do when you have no idea how to voice your weird feelings. "Exploring hasn't turned out very good so far…" Oh but it was sooo tempting! He fidgeted and looked out the door again. "Maybe one look around wouldn't hurt?" he suggested, and inched towards the outside.

Damir rolled his eyes. "You get caught stealing a loaf of bread and suddenly you're a chicken? C'mon." Much like his eyes, Damir rolled to his feet and dragged his little brother out the door. He rubbernecked before shutting the door quietly behind them. The beginning of sneaky assassins we have. Why Damir thought it would be fun to act sneaky, he knew not, but let's do it anyway.

The sun was sinking just below the horizon so the shadows were lengthening even more, providing the perfect cover for them to play hide and seek. Or hide and explore. "Let's see…" Damir looked around but couldn't see much worth exploring. It looked like a lot of stone and… boring. There was a stable just outside of a wood-worked arch which he guessed was where they came from down a short path. So... not that way, that would lead them… back to the city. He hadn't seen the ride up so his sense of direction might have been a little skewed. He looked up and realized that they were on a mountain. More buildings that looked similar to the ones in the city wound up a path he hadn't realized was there. The path split a ways up and seemed to cut into the very mountain. "There!" He pointed and trotted down the stone path beckoning his brother to follow as he did.

He paused at the outcropping of stone that REACHED FOR THE SKY. (IT'S GOT A SNAKE IN ITS BOOT.) Placing a hand on the rough rock in awe, he let his fingers trail along its surface as he traveled down the path. At the end of the path there was a large circle dug out with sand covering the stone. What looked like two scarecrows to him but without the clothing stood at the edge of the circle. "What do you think this is?" He asked of his brother, looking back.

_.xxx._

"It was a big loaf of bread," Angel protested, though he in no way resisted being pulled out the door. And he would always remember the way Damir had ended up under a pile of vicious little punks. He hoped if they ever met again, he could be the one in Conrad's position. Then Damir could have a turn. Maybe even two. He _was_ the one who got elbowed in the face, after all. And everywhere else. Nevertheless, he happily followed his brother outside, over the river and—no, wait. It was different when Damir led the way. Because he was older and he knew better and Angel was more than happy to bop along at heels like the puppy they never had. The stables tempted him, but by the way Damir had practically turned green after the ride, he doubted his brother would want to visit on purpose any time soon. The place was huge, and unlike the earlier gleaming golden welcome of the city below, it was tinged with ominous shades of blue and purple as the sun relinquished its place in the sky. It didn't feel as menacing as it might have if they hadn't been brought here, though. He knew Conrad was out there somewhere, and he had a funny gut feeling that if they needed saving for some reason, he'd come.

Why of course he had no idea. They were nothing to him. Little specks on the sidewalk probably had more significance. Buzz Lightyear had more meaning. Literally anything else but two little boys he'd scrounged out of an alley via random turf scuffle.

So busy was he in thinking and looking around that he bumped right into Damir as the older boy paused to take in the arena. A word which Angelius would not know, but the narrator does, so there we go. "Wow," he said, his voice full of awe. "I don't know...but it looks like fun!" He headed toward one of the dummies, cautiously walking around it. For a moment, he pretended he was Conrad, circling 'round another poor sap to determine their fate. A shadow slunk along the edges of the ring, hidden from all but the trained eye. Or guards with a vendetta cuz you threw their buddy off a roof. Angel reached out and prodded the dummy, delighted with the concept. He didn't even care what they were for, he wanted to find out and do it. Maybe even more than once!

It was about that time as Angel, one hand on the dummy while he turned to grin at his brother, a knife sliced through the air dangerously close to Damir's face, and buried itself neatly between his fingers. Anyone would have forgiven him for the strangled yelp that escaped his throat. Yanking his hand away, he first tried to pull the knife free, but it had been buried too deeply for anyone his size to even hope to budge it. The thrower emerged from the shadows, a second blade lazily twirling between his fingers.

"Kids these days," he drawled, his voice lightly accented with a foreign lilt. "Don't respect anyone or anything." Before Angel could even blink, the cool steel of the knife lay against his cheek as the assassin deftly maneuvered around Damir. "You don't match your brother, little one," he crooned, and searing heat sliced against his skin as a hidden rune activated on the hilt. It didn't draw blood and it wouldn't scar, but an angry welt leapt up immediately and Angel hissed at the pain. "Clearly, you've already been in trouble tonight," he said, beginning to wrap his fingers around Angel's wrist. "And yet, you continue to court it. I think I'll make an example of—ow!"

Which is what happens when an angry nine year old loses it and totally bites your hand. "You ruined my speech," he practically snarled. Oh, now this could mean trouble indeed.

_.xxx._

If Damir could sit down on the ground right there and just… give up he probably would have. If he didn't love his brother to the farthest reaches of the ever expanding universe and back to this little blue planet he probably would have just plopped down on his butt right there, fall back and probably rolled over and gone to sleep. Instead, he did what any proper big brother _should _do in such a circumstance. It was a good thing that Angel was too far away and it was dark enough that he couldn't see the new welt he had, or any motion he made in reaction to the pain. ANYWAY. He bent and picked up a sizeable stone and chucked it as hard as he could at the assassin, aiming at the assassin's head.

It TOTALLY… smacked him in the shoulder blade. Well he tried. He'd improve his aiming skills eventually. "Hey!" Eloquence. He was tired. Give him a break. He wasn't really thinking… it just sort of happened. His feet were moving and he found himself charging the assassin. Great, a replay of earlier events. Except, maybe it wasn't? He closed his eyes and hoped that the assassin had the same tailor as Conrad did and twisted at the last second reaching out a hand for the sash around the man's belt and grabbed at it. Ah yes! _There it was_. He saw the gleam and snatched at it, one of those shiny throwing knives. He caught it awkwardly and stumbled past. His stumble almost carried him to his face and stabbing himself which would have been NO HELP TO HIS BRO-BRO. He quickly turned to face the assassin that was currently holding his brother hostage. Sort of.

Damir held up the blade and tried to look as threatening as possible. "Let him go." He growled.

_.xxx._

The older boy (for he was not quite a man yet!) stared at Damir in utter shock. Incredulation. Surprise. Complete and total W-T-F. How did he know what tailor he had?! That sash was special! He'd been...kid-handled! Fury flashed through his eyes and was tempered by the training he'd received thus far. Barely. Lucky for the little one he still managed to hold by the wrist. His shoulder ached, and he rolled it experimentally. Yep. Just as he'd thought. Perfectly fine. Ow_. I mean_, weak little bugger. Angel squirmed and flopped like a fish on a first date with dry land, desperately trying to reach Damir. _Not again, _he thought grimly. This time there was only one, but here they were—his older brother trying to protect him and about to get roundly trounced for his efforts. Even with a dagger in his hand, he'd be no match for this guy. Not if he could throw knives with such wicked accuracy. The assassin let out a breath.

"Oh," he said, his voice low and menacing. "You'll regret that, child." As Angel continued to writhe like a possessed freaky doll, he found himself hauled into a mostly upright position. The punch was neatly delivered, complete with a bow on top, and so perfectly placed, he almost had to admire it. Almost. It struck just below his solar plexus, and he fell to his knees, gasping for air. _Holy hell_. That wasn't very nice. As the air continued to rudely elude his lungs, he jerked his head up in time to see the man step forward, toward Damir. "Happy now?" he practically purred. "I let him go. Of course, he won't be going anywhere...and neither will you." It wasn't fair and it most certainly wasn't right, but he totally unleashed his assassin-y goodness all over Damir's face. In seconds the knife was back in the sash where it belonged and he had indeed roundly trounced the younger boy right into the ground where he ought to have been in the first place. Huh. What was that about Conrad showing up, again?!

"Now," he said, hissing fury between his teeth like red-tinged smoke. "You will come with me." Having had quite enough of these two trouble-making ruffians, he stalked back to Angel and hauled him to his feet. The pain in his ABDOMEN doubled, and he couldn't resist the whine. He was just a bby! The cruelty! The horror! The injustice of it all! With Angel practically dangling from one hand and Damir from the other, he stalked, full of righteous fury, toward the central building. Tall and imposing, the windows only dimly lit from within, it reminded him of a castle. Where vampires would take young boys to be sacrificed. Oh yes. It didn't even begin to describe what lay underneath it, however, the real hiding place of the Brotherhood. Dun dun DUNNNN. Conrad would be so pleased that he'd caught these two little troublemaking sacks of jerk. Sometimes, people forgot what kind of monster lived atop the hill. They were due some reminding. Maybe little pieces of their children sent back to them in boxes would do the trick? No, no, he chastised himself, _never harm an innocent. _Not that these balls of fail were innocent, exactly, but they weren't so guilty as to need to be chopped into bits, either. But they didn't need to know that. No, he suspected Conrad would simply have them dropped off back in the city with some kind of warning. Maybe he'd get to do it. He practically skipped towards the looming doors. It wasn't often one of them got the chance to truly please Master Conrad. This was a rare opportunity he was most certainly not going to squander.

_.xxx._

Being shown who was bigger, better, and badder a second time that day was no fun at all. Damir struggled to keep hold of the knife but his brother's attacker got a few choice hits in. Their assailant knocked his feet out from under him and yanked the knife free of his hands easily enough. One day. _One. Day._ He tried for the knife again from his position on the ground but the man planted his boot on his chest and pinned him there. Reaching around, their 'friend' took hold of the back of his shirt and hauled him right on over to pick up his younger brother like he weighed nothing. This was _not_ fun, fun, fun!

Damir practically snarled with absolute insane fury and tried to claw the man's grip free of his… wait for it… SHIRT. It seemed to be the favored gripping spot today. But his grip was positioned well enough that he couldn't twist around and get at the man's hand. Giving up about halfway through the trip he tried to soothe his brother… even if his brother was doing fine, it seemed to soothe his fraying nerves. "It's okay, Angel. It's okay. We're gonna be okay, we'll-" But before he could finish whatever he was about to say both he and Angelius were pushed forward. He stumbled but was able to catch himself in time. He held out a hand just in case Angelius had stumbled as well.

Conrad was speaking quietly with another assassin on the other side of the room and didn't notice the group that had entered. Their kidnapper knew otherwise. Conrad noticed everything and he was very conveniently making them wait because he had quite rudely interrupted his conversation with the other assassin. It was a few minutes more before the assassin gave a slight bow of respect and left. Conrad waited for the assassin to exit the building… and then waited even longer. The assassin that had dragged Angelius and Damir in began to fidget nervously. After what seemed like an eternity and a half, Conrad turned to face the little group. Their kidnapper immediately bowed.

Damir exchanged a look with Angelius then looked back to Conrad. What were they supposed to do? Follow the newly appointed jerk's lead along with the other assassin and bow? Conrad hadn't accepted them as apprentices and he hadn't given them any rules yet. Bowing seemed stupid. Standing there was good. He didn't want to bow and look stupid. Maybe they would train him to bow. Did they train people to bow? He pulled his attention back to the present and waited. So. What? Were they already in trouble and going to be kicked out? Conrad had _said_ they could go exploring. Had he been lying? Adults lied. John had promised he'd be there for them always. That he would take care of them, but instead he had left and left everything up to Damir… He wasn't ready to grow up. He didn't want to be a liar too, but he was picking up on that habit and fast.

"Master Conrad," The assassin murmured respectfully, "I was-"

"Kalladin." Conrad cut the assassin off, a steely note in his tone but it turned amiable. "How kind of you to bring the children here." He strode forward at an easy pace and stopped a few feet from the trio. "Why?" He demanded. It wasn't especially loud, the way he said it, but there was an air of authority so absolute that anyone would have been insane _not_ to answer him.

Kalladin, now named, steeled himself and straightened. "These _children_ were playing in the arena. I'm not sure how they got this far but-" he was cut off, YET AGAIN.

"I brought them here." Conrad said simply. Kalladin gulped. Oops. Conrad continued. "So why, are they here? Did they…" He paused and looked at Angelius. His storm gray eyes narrowed. He leaned down and took the boy's chin between his fingers. Tilting Angel's head up and to the side, he examined the angry welt that Kalladin had gifted the boy with. "What. Is this?" Conrad asked the other assassin quietly without looking at him.

_.xxx._

Being dragged like a sack of potatoes was officially not his favorite thing. Ever. At all. Angel huffed to himself and he wondered if, when he grew up, he could forever prevent being drug anywhere ever again. What was it about these children-manhandling-jerkballs anyway?! Conrad said they could go look, he hadn't said anything was off limits. His face hurt and he resisted the urge to pout. Damir had gotten worse before, twice already today, and _he _hadn't pouted. _Hmph_.

"Damir, I," he began to say, but then he caught sight of Conrad and received a lovely shove from behind. Damir was magical and somehow managed to steady them both, though how he'd done it Angel would never know. He kept repeating to himself that Conrad had said it was okay. Or…had Angel totally made it all up in his mind and they were about to get thrown off a cliff to certain doom and destruction even though he was pretty pretty sure Conrad said it was alright?! What would they do now? He'd been perfectly okay with the idea of learning how to do cool things here and understanding whatever strange order these guys had going on, complete with food and clothes and everything a boy could probably ever want. Probably. And now it might all go away. It wouldn't be fair to blame Damir for this, would it? He considered carefully. No, he decided, it was his fault to start with, therefore Damir wanting to explore (CONRAD SAID WE COOOULD) wasn't the bad thing that had brought them here.

Oh no. Ohhh no. The mushrooms. They were shitake. Kalladin only barely resisted the screaming urge to turn tail and run away. But then. Conrad would know where to find him. Conrad always knew. Shoot. Dang. Darn. Oh dear. He cleared his throat and watched with apprehension hanging heavy about his shoulders as his Master examined the present he'd left on Angel's cheek, way back when he'd thought they were darling little intruders and not…actually brought here by the Master himself. He said a silent prayer that maybe he wouldn't die completely tonight, and tried to formulate a sentence. Angel couldn't help the flinch as Conrad's fingers came toward him. Hey. The dude was terrifying and he'd already been accosted once tonight! But his words and tone were comforting. He wasn't mad at them. In fact, he sounded rather unhappy with Kalladin instead. For a moment, he seriously debated mentioning the bruise that was surely blossoming at that very moment under his shirt (SHIIIIRT IN THE DUNGEON), but a quick glance at Kalladin changed his mind. If Angel told on him, he might find him later in his sleep and do something worse. You never know. So he wisely kept his mouth very shut and instead preened inwardly as the other assassin tried desperately to put together some words that wouldn't end with his being. You know. Eaten. _Never harm an innocent_. _Shit, shit shit shit_, he thought.

"I didn't, well I was actually, uh…" Kalladin clasped his hands in front of him and recalled that last time he'd spoken this way had been to his instructor, whom he had been quite terrified of, he had received a punch in the face for his trouble. Because if you can't even put together a sentence to someone who intimidates you, wtf are you going to do with a weapon? _Hmm_? That's right, _die_. So he mentally punched himself in the face and continued. "My deepest apologies, Master Conrad," he said. The inner prayers came complete with a choir, just in case he did perish this night. "I didn't realize they were under your protection. I came upon them in the arena, as I mentioned, and thought them to be from the city. I recall we had some trouble with children several months ago and I immediately thought to make an example of them. To rid ourselves of any future...issues." Children, somehow, managed to be ridiculously sneaky and sometimes get past the assassins who patrolled the walls, so he hoped and _prayed _Conrad would understand his line of thinking. Perhaps he should have just drug them in first instead of trying to scare the shitakes out of them. But then, if they hadn't been brought in with Conrad, he wouldn't even be thinking these thoughts. He couldn't bring himself to meet his Master's eyes, feeling like a puppy who just had picked on the younger puppies and gotten caught, not at all like the assassin he was training to be. Stoopid kids. This is why nobody likes them. "I hope you can forgive my grievous error," he added. _Plz2notkillmeConraddd!_

_.xxx._

Conrad released Angelius's chin and straightened. He gave Kalladin the time he needed to explain himself. He was patient as Kalladin apologized and gave a… rather useless excuse, in his book of… SECRETS. A giant book full of many secrets. Mwahaha. He let Kalladin's words hang in the air for a minute. And then s'more minutes. And then longer. The silence stretched between them. Even the crickets didn't dare sing because… well. Do not interrupt the Master Conrad's silence.

"Kalladin," Conrad said his name gently, but the assassin still flinched. "What is the first tenet?"

Kalladin swallowed and… yes, yes it did happen. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow. We gotta have some cliche going down, yo. "Never harm an innocent." He replied meekly.

"Good." Conrad praised. "Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent. So again, I ask. What, is this?" He took hold of Angelius's chin again—a little more roughly than necessary this time and tilted the boy's head to show Kalladin the wound.

Damir totally would have told Conrad to back it right on up and stop manhandling his brother that way, but knew somewhere deep down that if he did he might become the headless horseman. Without a horse and nowhere near as terrifying. So, he kept his trap shut and as much as he wanted to enjoy this, he really didn't. Not at all. He looked at Angel with his cheeks squished between Conrad's fingers. Kalladin looked at the boy then back to his master, his expression finally melting into one of guilt. Conrad released his grip on Angelius and gently pushed the boys aside so that he could _loom _over Kalladin. He was a tall man. So he was pretty great at looming. Doom, gloom, and loom. "I left these boys not but an hour ago. Did they kill someone in that time? If so, please show me the body, as you know how I hate a mess."

Kalladin could only stand there and continue his best impression of the dog of shame. "No body? So they did not kill anyone? So that would make them…" Conrad paused and waited. And waited.

"Innocent." Kalladin finally responded. ASTUTE STUDENT, YOU ARE.

"Correct. Even had there been children trespassing and you wanted to… make an example of them." He paused, disliking the phrase that Kalladin had used. "They. Are children." He held out his hand. "Give it to me."

Damir looked between the two assassins. He had NO clue what to think of Conrad at this point. The man was _impossible _to read. He took Angel's shoulders and pulled him closer as if that would protect him from the scary assassins.

Kalladin looked up at Conrad, horrified. Conrad waited. "But, it took me a _year_ to earn-" An eyebrow arched. Kalladin quieted and reached for the knife that he had used to harm Angel. Conrad waited. Kalladin hesitated. Conrad twitched his fingers. The younger assassin sighed and placed the blade, handle first in Conrad's hand.

_.xxx._

Kalladin watched the dagger disappear from his life and couldn't help the flash of anger and sorrow, tied closely to one another. However, he knew he'd done wrong in harming the boy, as Conrad's tone clearly indicated how he felt about making an example of children. Next time, he would not use a weapon. He'd bring any interlopers to his Master and let Conrad terrify them. It'd be much more effective anyway. Angel shook his head and rubbed at his face to clear the finger marks he was pretty sure still lingered there. Being closer to Damir soothed him, though he watched Kalladin carefully from beneath his dark curls, careful to breathe shallowly lest his lungs attack him. The assassin bowed to Conrad once again, lower than before.

"I apologize, Master. I will do better." Turning to the boys, he offered them a short bow, too. "And to you I must apologize as well. I should not have treated you as such." Angel would have said something in reply but decided against it, having no clue at all as to what the protocol was when accepting someone else's apology in this place. No one (except Damir) had ever apologized to him before, and he knew a grin and a friendly punch or, god forbid, a hug, was not the way to go here.

Resigned to his fate which was only bound to go downhill from here, Kalladin managed to meet Conrad's eyes. Taking a quick breath to steady himself, knowing it'd only be worse if Conrad found out later, he added, "I also may have..." he corrected himself. "I'm sure you will find a bruise where I struck him," he said, nodding at Angel. "By your leave, I will excuse myself to Mentor Palin, and explain the situation." And he'd be lucky to escape _that_ without a few bruises of his own, as Palin was one of the strictest, most difficult Mentors in the Brotherhood. Earning the dagger had been hard enough. He couldn't imagine what it would take to get it back. He waited, head bowed and eyes lowered, for Conrad to either deck him or release him. Or both.

_.xxx._

Damir had no idea how to react to the apology either. He could only stand there stupidly and keep his hands planted firmly on his brother's shoulders in a protective gesture. After a long moment, he pursed his lips and then inclined his head a little. He'd seen Conrad do it earlier, maybe he should do that? So he did it. It seemed good enough. When in doubt, follow the leader! Seemed sound advice. He could follow his own advice. It was good stuff. Most of the time.

Conrad's eyes narrowed dangerously when Kalladin admitted to his second fault. But he did well in doing so. It saved him from certain death, doom, and destruction. "Thank you, Kalladin. You are excused." He hesitated. Mentor Palin was among the harshest of mentors. Kalladin would explain what had happened, he had no doubts of that, but the punishment that would be dealt by the mentor in most cases would not be to Conrad's liking.

Kalladin's gratitude radiated off of him. Only too thankful was he that Conrad hadn't taken one of his legs for his admittance. He turned to leave but Conrad's voice stopped him again, he froze at his name. "I will be speaking with Palin tomorrow. I trust that you will explain the situation to him fully, correct?"

Kalladin bowed again. "Yes, Master Conrad."

"Good. You may leave now." If the punishment crossed the line, there would be words Conrad would have with Palin.

If Kalladin didn't think it would look bad and completely kill his pride he would have scampered out of there like a scared leetle mouse. But… he only walked… fast.

The door boomed ominously as it shut behind Kalladin. Conrad turned to the two boys and smothered the sigh of annoyance. These two had spirit, and already they had gotten into trouble twice. Was this a sign that they were going to be the death of him? He shook his head half-heartedly and walked back over to them. He dropped to one knee and pulled Angelius toward him by one arm. He examined both of the boy's arms, turning each over in turn. No bruises. He let go of Angel's arm and rest his elbow on one knee. He studied the boy for a long moment. "Ah." He lifted Angel's shirt and saw the nasty bruise there. He ran his fingers lightly over it. Nothing broken. He dropped the shirt and stood back up. "What happened?"

_.xxx._

Angel almost felt just a tiny bit bad for Kalladin. He didn't know what the older boy was in for but it sure didn't seem like he was looking forward to it. Unfortunately for Kalladin, his Mentor once had a son of his own, and while he was pretty sure Palin wouldn't kill him, it would be close. It was tempting to blame the little brats for his trouble, but he knew no one would appreciate the sentiment. Still, they could have said something!

Decidedly uncomfortable, Angel waited stiffly for the inspection to end. He was surprised Kalladin had admitted to the punch, and kinda wished he hadn't since...being looked at by Conrad was not fun. He was suddenly intensely conscious of his skinny little self and wished for muscle. Or. Another shirt. Maybe like three shirts. He let out a sigh of relief and stepped closer to Damir once the big man released him, and the story came tumbling out. He told him how they had gone to look around and how Kalladin had crept up on them. That knife was probably still stuck in the dummy.

"But you said we could look around, didn't you?" he asked anxiously. Based on what had just happened he was pretty positive he hadn't made it up. But. Nine year old imaginations are vivid.

_.xxx._

Conrad waited for Angelius to finish his story. He looked to Damir to confirm it. Damir only nodded in affirmation. "I did." Conrad said in response to Angelius's question. "It seems that you both need to be properly introduced before wandering the grounds. Had I known that the rules were so _malleable,_" he spat the word crossly before continuing, "to my assassins I would not have let you roam freely. I will correct this immediately." Errybody gon' get whipped. He folded his arms over his chest, a steely glint in his gray eyes.

He glared at each boy, "Next time, be more aware of your surroundings."

Damir's jaw dropped. He couldn't POSSIBLY be scolding _them_ for this. Could he? Was he? "But he was-!" Damir stepped forward, ready to argue with the man, but Conrad seemed to have an obnoxious knack for interrupting people.

"He has been taken care of."

"Yeah, but he attacked Angel first! We were just looking! And all you do is tell us to be more aware of our surroundings?!" Damir couldn't keep the anger from boiling over and he clenched his fists in frustration.

Conrad watched the boy with a stony expression. "Damir. Lower your voice."

"No! That's not fair! You just took his stupid knife away! He punched my brother and could have killed him!" Damir argued taking another step forward, challenging the man.

"Damir!" The assassin's shout was a whip crack in the room that made the boy flinch back and shut _right _up. "I said lower. Your voice." He said in a clipped tone. He looked the boys both squarely in the face one from the other and Damir swallowed, keeping his trap shut this time. "Take this as your first lesson. Always. _Always_ be aware of what's around you. Accept that you were beaten tonight. Learn from it, don't begrudge it."

Damir looked down and glared at the floor. Stupid floor. "You are both excused. I will send someone to show you the grounds in the morning and give you decent clothing. If you cannot find your room, then I will send someone to find you in the morning." With that said, Conrad left the room on silent feet.

_.xxx._

"Damir, it's okay," Angel said, but quickly and wisely shut his face as Damir challenged Conrad to a shouting match. And then proceeded to lose miserably. He considered the words carefully and shrugged. "I think it wouldn't have mattered," he told his brother as the older man stalked away. "Even if we noticed him...he still woulda won." Easily, too. Although at least they would have seen it coming. If you see a punch coming, does it hurt less? He didn't really think so. "It was my turn to get hit," he said, decidedly too cheerful about the situation. "Now I have a bruise, too!" Even if it hadn't felt pleasant at all to get it. Only a kid could be so happy to match his brother. Silly little tard. "Come on, Da. Let's go sleep."

Mercifully, they ran across no other assassins looking to beat up some kids. Damir had a better sense of direction and Angel, being more than slightly hyper vigilant, stuck close to his brother's side while scanning the darkness around them. Soon they were back to their little room, and with mumbled love-yous, collapsed into what had to be the best sleep ever.


	3. Chapter Three: The Castello

A sharp knock woke them both the next morning, and a tall man with hair dark as a raven's wing entered without further ado. He tossed a set of clothes to each boy as he introduced himself.

"I am Syrus," he said, his voice a smooth and surprisingly deep baritone for his lean build. "You may address me as such. I am your guide for the day. Dress and join me outside." He stepped out to allow them privacy because that would be weird otherwise. Damir and Angel stuffed themselves into the items, and paused to admire each other for a moment. They'd even been given boots, made of good leather, and Angel desperately wanted to keep them. Deciding that they looked fabulous, they joined Syrus and followed him as he strode off, deliberately shortening his long stride so they wouldn't have to jog along behind him. "Food first, I think," he said, and led them to the towering building again, through the arena where they'd been ambushed the night before. Syrus explained its purpose to them as they walked, and Angel somehow couldn't picture this man killing anyone. He seemed so...normal.

The...cafeteria/mess hall/place of food was packed, and though there was not a cliché turn and stare, they felt the eyes on them. Assassins could watch without being obvious about it. Duh. Syrus led them to a well-oiled wooden bar and guided them through the meal selection process. Angel couldn't remember seeing this much food ever in his life. Syrus patiently herded the pair to the end of a long table, where he placed himself between the two of them and the other assassins, silently indicating they were not welcome to approach the boys for questions or conversation. While new recruits weren't necessarily uncommon, these two, and especially Angel, were definitely on the lower end of the age-range acceptable to the Brotherhood, and he did not want to field the questions surrounding them so soon. They hadn't been officially accepted just yet, after all. A flash of white caught the boys' attention as Conrad moved about the hall. "Only Master Conrad wears the White," Syrus explained around a nibble of a buttered roll. "Mentors wear only black. Apprentices don gray…and the rest of us vary in color, as you can see. You will as well when it is time." His own robes were sleek in deep shades of red and black, suiting his slightly darker complexion nicely indeed.

In the corner, in self-imposed exile, was Kalladin. He kept his head low as he fiddled with his food, not making eye contact with anyone. The bruise on his face wasn't very pretty to look at and by the way he shifted uncomfortably, there were many more beneath the layers of clothing. Palin had, as expected, been rather...displeased with his student, and while he'd stopped short of breaking any bones, Kalladin knew his ribs were bruised at the very least. He didn't expect things to improve once Master Conrad spoke to his Mentor either, and he wasn't looking forward to the next sparring session at all. Spotting the boys, he sunk even lower in his seat and refused to look at them. Punishment was the worst.

Once breakfast was over, Syrus ushered them out and began the rest of the tour. "You'll pick it up quickly," he said as they moved through the expansive grounds. Angel made special notice of the stable. It had been a while since they'd had nice clothes and full bellies. He was ridiculously happy about it. Maybe it would all work out after all.

_.xxx._

Damir couldn't help but feel bad for Kalladin. He looked horrible. Upon seeing the absolute misery and shame in the assassin's demeanor, Damir forgave him completely. Was his mentor the one that had hurt him like that? Was this what he and Angel had to look forward to when they were finally accepted as apprentices? He'd already taken a beating yesterday. Twice. If it was going to become a routine then. NOPE. They were going back to the city. Just before they exited the mess hall Damir noticed Conrad speaking with an assassin in black. Syrus had said that mentors wore black. So it had to be a mentor. Conrad looked angry, but then he had looked angry last night, too. He tried to think back. Come to think of it, he didn't recall really seeing the man actually ever smile since they'd met just the day before. Passing through the doorway he leaned back just enough to see Conrad point a finger at Kalladin and then shake his head at the mentor. Was Kalladin going to be beaten again? He hoped not… He hesitated and considered running back in to tell Conrad that it was okay, that he had forgiven Kalladin and that they didn't need to punish him anymore. No, Conrad would probably tell him to mind his own business. He sighed and jogged to catch up with Syrus and Angel.

Syrus led the boys through the streets and Damir found that the "grounds" were more like an entirely new city. They had reached "Castello" as Syrus had named it a few moments earlier when the sun had been setting so they hadn't been able to get the FULL AFFECT. Now that the sun was up, the place was freaking huge. It just went up and over and down and… all over.

As Syrus led them up a long winding staircase that seemed to go on forever, Damir couldn't help but admire his own boots that had been given to him. They were so _soft_. They did pinch his toes a little but he couldn't feel the stones biting into the soles of his feet which most definitely outweighed the con. He looked at his brother and grinned. It had been a long time since he felt this way-felt like he wasn't carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for just a moment.

Syrus had gone on about… things. Pertaining to the Castello that Damir guessed he would probably want to know later but he didn't want to ruin the moment. The staircase ended and a blast of chilly wind stole his breath for a moment. He took a quick breath and… that moment was squished. They were on top of the freaking mountain… or what amounted to it. Too close to the edge for Damir's liking. (Which wasn't close. At all.) Damir paled. "Angel, be careful." He said in a small voice and checked to his left seeing the building that he hoped they were touring next. "In there right?"

Syrus arched a brow. "Yes, down the-" Damir ran inside the opening and down a staircase that spiraled down into a cavernous area.

_.xxx._

The Castello was drop dead gorgeous. There were so many things to see and remember! Buildings specifically for training, sleeping, eating...it had everything. Literally. Angel tried to keep track of it all, but he knew he'd be asking Damir later where all the things were. He had a fantastic memory, but directions were in a whole new realm. It lifted his heart to see his brother happy. How long had it been since Damir hadn't looked so weary under the weight of...well, their whole world? He thanked the skies for Conrad. He'd taken that away. Granted, they both had already gotten smacked around, but at this point he thought it was fair to call it an even exchange. A few punches, a scar on Damir's lip he would be totally jealous of, and a bruise or two was 200% worth it just to see Damir able to return to himself again.

And then there was the tower. Syrus watched in complete and utter amusement as Damir practically fled the scene to get away from their sky-scraping perch. He turned to Angelius as if expecting him to turn tail and run, too, but he leaned against the wall on his tiptoes to get the best view, and laughed as the wind brushed his hair away from his face. In what he would soon recognize as a rare show of kindness (Syrus was not very touchy-feely), the assassin boosted him to the top of the wall, steadying him with gentle hands as Angel leaned over to look for the ground. When he went a little too far, Syrus snatched him back and put his feet firmly on the brick again. Angel dutifully followed him down the stairs after Damir, cheeks flushed with wind and excitement.

"Now," Syrus said when the tour was complete. "We test your skill level. Come." He led them to the stables. Angel fell in love immediately. The rows of stalls were nearly all occupied, though there were several empty ones at the back. "You will train on Eos and Dinara," he said, indicating two horses in adjacent stalls. Dinara was the smaller of the two, more suited to Angel, and he went to pet her nose as Syrus gathered the appropriate gear. "You will learn all of this later," he said as he saddled both the painted Dinara and the silver black Eos. "Today is only about assessing your talents." He tied both horses to a rail outside and let a giant black destrier into the arena, completely tackless. "First, I will show you what is possible with time and patience."

Angel stood next to Dinara, a hand on her neck, and watched with open awe and admiration as Syrus and his stallion whirled about the ring as though they were of one mind. He wanted to do that so badly. "I wanna be like that," he informed Damir. And then it was their turn. Determined as he was to be amazing, he struggled with the basic instructions like 'stay on' and 'try to turn.' Syrus instructed Angel to continue walking the little mare, and turned to Damir. It was time. Dun dun dunnn!

_.xxx._

Damir had waited forever at the bottom of the staircase for Syrus and Angelius. He sulked and crossed his arms and looked around the large oval room he had stumbled into. It looked like another sparring arena, but a lot more… concrete. Formal. Casings of armor and weapons adorned the walls. Before he could go and try to touch the shiny weapons Syrus and Angelius found him. Those fools, ruining what was to be his fun.

Syrus finished the tour in quick fashion, but Damir knew that they had probably only seen a third of the Castello. It was too big to have only seen those few places. Maybe he had only showed them the important parts where they would be spending the majority of their time as little baby assassins. He and Angel would have to do more exploring later. Damir's head snapped up when he realized where they were and what Syrus was leading toward them. Oh. Oh no. No no. Now? _Now_? As in like, right now? Right now they were going to ride horses again? You'd think for being a farm boy he had ridden horses before. NOT ROUND THOSE PARTS NOPE.

The horse-pretty as it was-that Syrus had assigned to him shifted and Damir flinched and moved away from it. He just had the sneaking suspicion that she was going to step on him. He barely heard Angel's comment. He took a quick, shallow breath. "Yeah?" His voice shook. But only a little!

When Angel took off with Dinara, Damir backed away quickly. He was delighted for his little brother and the way he lit up as he rode the little mare around… but this, Damir could not do. He couldn't understand why he suddenly had these paralyzing fears that he'd never noticed before _now_. Too busy with taking care of a lifeless mother and his little brother. No time for fear, son! What if Conrad found out? No, no Conrad couldn't find out. He wouldn't have anyone train him. He would probably end up being some… assassin's tailor. Kalladin's most likely. He didn't know how to sew though. Who could train him to do _that_? Great. Just great. Help.

Damir sighed and screwed his eyes shut. He moved toward Eos again but the mare must have sensed his fear and snorted. The boy jumped and stepped back again. Soooo. He could wait. Yes he could. He waited for Angelius to finish with his obvious mad skills on a horse. When he had, Syrus looked to him expectantly. Damir blinked and then gave a sheepish look. He mentally scrambled around for an excuse. Any excuse. Lies! Where were the lies?! AH YES! _THAT _ONE! "Um. I got… in a fight yesterday. And, um. One of the other boys hit me in the ribs and it still hurts. A lot. I think I should wait one more day before riding horses." He gave another sheepish smile followed by a wince and pointed at his ribs. See? It hurts. It really does, promise.

_.xxx._

Grasping at the mare's mane to right himself, Angel strained to hear the conversation. "Shoo," he told her, trying to mosey toward that end of the ring. She sighed at him, but obliged, apparently more willing to listen to his voice than she was to his pitiful leg or rein cues. Encouraged, he murmured at her and she extended her walk. Score. He caught the tail end of the conversation. Really? Damir was hurt that badly? Concerned for his brother, he sat back in the saddle. Dinara halted. Hey. That was pretty cool. A nudge of his legs did nothing. He clucked at her and she took a few grudging steps forward. Okay. Progress. He hadn't even fallen off yet!

Syrus stared at Damir with an eyebrow slightly raised. "Hmm," he said. "I see." Turning to Angel, he gestured. "Bring her here, Angelius," he instructed. Angel furrowed his brow and urged the mare forward. She, very slowly and mostly unwillingly, followed his vague cues. Though she was small, he was smaller, and they weren't a perfect fit. Maybe when Angel grew a little more… Maybe. When the horse was close enough, Syrus snagged her bridle and stood at her shoulder. He was so tall, he could still almost look Angel in the eyes. It was a little frightening, actually. "Angel," he said.

"…Uh-huh?" Angel said.

"Do you or do you not have a bruise here?" he asked, pointing at the boy's chest. Angel looked between the finger and his body.

"Uh…yes?"

Syrus poked it.

"Ow," Angel told him.

"Hurt?"

"…Uhhh-huh," the boy replied. Syrus turned to look at Damir.

"Now what's your excuse?" he asked. Your move, bucko :}

_.xxx._

Damir gulped. It was audible, too. He didn't know… what to do now. He couldn't look like a, well, a weakling in front of his little brother. No way. He had to be strong for him, but. He gulped again and looked at Eos. _Look on the bright side_, he tried to tell himself. At least she wasn't as big as THAT MONSTROSITY… he sized up Syrus's horse of Godzilla proportions.

Damir took another quick breath and rubbed his sweaty palms (when did that happen? Excuse u hands, u need to calm urself.) on his robes and timidly walked to Eos. The mare tolerated him. Well, that was something. Right? Yes, yes it was. He tried not to look at his brother and acted like he was as confident as ever, or hoped that was what he looked like. He looked back at Syrus. Syrus only gave him that same look. No way out of this one. Shoot. Shoot. Dang. Darn. Son of a...

"Okay. Okay. Okay…" He repeated under his breath and tried to pull himself up into the saddle. It took some work and he was certain he looked absolutely ridiculous doing it. He climbed up awkwardly and took several minutes longer to arrange himself into a proper position in the saddle. It probably took him at least _five _grueling minutes of awkward before he sat up straight and theeeeeeeeen…. he looked down. "Nope." He said abruptly and before you could blink he had slid out of the saddle and was on the ground again. Yes. Nice ground. Safe ground. Favorite ground.

_.xxx._

Damir wasn't afraid of anything. Until now. Angel couldn't help but think it had to be some kind of fluke as he looked down at Dinara's ears. How could he possibly do something without fear that Damir couldn't? Was that even a thing? Apparently it was. Syrus sighed and shook his head. Striding over to the boy with those impossibly long legs of his (maybe he was a horse in his spare time), he simply said "Yep." Picked him up, put him in the saddle, and pushed Eos off at a walk. "Fall off," Syrus said, "and you go right back on."

Stepping back to watch, he eyed Damir critically. Well. It would definitely take some work to get that one used to a horse, let alone comfortable on one. Competent would be another thing entirely. Angel did his best to work Dinara toward Eos, though the mare wasn't enthused about the task. Well. There was hope for one of them, at least. It wasn't like Angel knew jack about horses or riding just yet but he was bound and determined to help his brother if it was possible. "Relax," he suggested helpfully, noting the way Damir's knuckles were…well. White. Like blindingly so. "She won't like it when you're tense." How he knew that, he had no idea. Maybe it was because he'd spent more time around farm animals than his brother. While not getting work and basically kicking rocks around town. Cuz. People are rude.

_.xxx._

Okay, that just wasn't fair. One minute Damir was safely back on the ground and the next he was back up _ON_ the horse and MOVING. Not okay not okay not okay. He was taking quick shallow breaths and avoiding looking at the ground at all costs. He heard Angel beside him, telling him to relax. This time he just couldn't keep the stricken look off his face when he looked at his brother and gave a jerky shake of his head. "I can't." He'd bit his lip and it had reopened the wound from the day before. "Angel, I can't." He almost whispered. His breath started coming in short gasps as he leaned over the horse and closed his eyes tightly. Eos was moving just too fast, and his vision swam when he opened his eyes again and looked down. He was going to die if he fell, he knew he was. He just _knew_ it. Don't overdramatize this, Damir. Oh but he was, he was gonna die.

No, no he wasn't. Calm down. Damir was vaguely aware of Syrus pulling him off Eos, sitting him down on the ground and kneeling in front of him. Damir swiped at his face, finding tears there as he gasped for breath. Syrus gently pushed Damir's head down to give him a much better view of the ground albeit nowhere near as far as it had been moments before. "Breathe." He told him softly. Damir rest his head on his knees and did as the tall man told him to and tried to slow his breathing.

Well that was fun. Not. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened but didn't want it to ever happen again in his life. Ever. He would just… find some other way to travel. Like. He didn't know. Ride pigs. They were pretty fast, right? Or goats. He sighed in defeat and could only keep his head down in shame now, more than anything else.

_.xxx._

The panic attack was something else totally new to Angel, but Syrus appeared to know how to handle it. He was already trying to formulate ways of helping his brother through this. He was anxious to master the art of riding so he could show Damir that it was okay and completely possible, but really, Dinara was still too large for him to be comfortable and his balance was a sketchy thing at the moment. Anxiousness written all over his face, he scrambled to the ground and waited, shifting from foot to foot as Syrus soothed Damir.

"It will be fine," the assassin told Angel, and gently pulled the older boy to his feet. "Enough of this." Angel's disappointed look had his lips twitching, but really, he'd seen all he needed to. Conrad was going to have his hands full with these two. "On to something else," he said, and waved a hand. A stable hand materialized out of literally nowhere to take the horses in. The boys would be doing that on their own soon enough, but today was not about learning to care for the four legged traumatizing machines. It was about skill. Or lack thereof.

They moved to the sparring ring, which was mercifully empty, as Angel could already feel his stomach sinking. Here, Damir would excel, and he would…not. Syrus stood across from Damir and made a "come on then" gesture. "Show me how you would attack," he said, in case the boy missed the cue. This was going to be interesting.

_.xxx._

Damir ducked his head immediately after being hauled to his feet. He had had just about enough of being towed around like a child. Well okay he was one, but he felt like he was too old for this. Too old to be treated like a sack of potatoes. :C That was Angel's job for another year or two. Come on, he was practically a teenager. This? Just no. This was embarrassing enough.

Well no, actually, the most embarrassing thing was _this _moment in his life. Right here. Right now. He had wigged out in front of his little brother and in front of someone that was judging their skills. Lack thereof, in his case. He had failed his first test, miserably. And cried. He had. _Cried_. He hunched his shoulders as if that would help him melt into a puddle on the ground and slide away. Far away. Maybe this whole assassin gig wasn't meant for him. But surely just horseback riding wasn't what it was all about. Skill_s_ he had said. Not skill. More to being an assassin than just riding a horse. All was not lost, right? He tried to take comfort in that. It didn't work as well as he wanted it to.

Damir avoided looking at Angel the most. He felt like he had failed his brother somehow. Oh, he knew that Angel probably didn't expect him to be perfect. That he had fears, too. But to be so incapacitated by such a stupid fear? How many times had he promised Angelius that he would take care and protect him? Here he had just shown him that he couldn't take care of himself on a horse. A big scary horse… but still, a horse.

He glumly followed Syrus into the arena. He looked up at the man when told to show him how he would attack. He rubbed at his other arm, shame still oozing from every pore of his poor little body. It was POORING FROM HIM. :C

Syrus gave a very slight shake of his head. Annoyed but understood that Damir was embarrassed. Which… was completely understandable, really. Pride and all. Best be eggin' him on, son. Syrus stepped forward and gave Damir a smart cuff across the top of his head and eased back to where he was with fluid grace. "Ow!" Damir complained, rubbing at his head. "What was that for?" Syrus only gave him the "come on then" gesture again.

Fine. He'd play the game. He wouldn't be stupid this time. The last two times he charged someone he lost. Horribly. Charging wasn't a good method. Last night he had noticed the sash that both Kalladin and Conrad wore. This was just a test. He didn't need to disarm Syrus. He studied the man, watching his stance and then mimicked it. Syrus gave a slight smile of approval.

Lightbulb! Damir couldn't help but smile at his own genius. Or… he thought he was a genius. Total genius, that one. He would win this one! He charged Syrus. Or at least that's what it _looked _like. Syrus was waiting until the last moment before he would execute a repeat of the Conrad-kick (it's an actual move!) but Damir dropped into a baseball player's slide and grabbed at Syrus's foot that was lifting to execute the kick. With that extra momentum Damir pushed and Syrus lost his balance. He managed to regain it before falling flat on his face because he's legit Syrus and has incredible balance.

Damir got to his feet, dusting himself off and then fell back into that same fighting stance that Syrus had been in earlier.

_.xxx._

Angel could feel the embarrassment practically wafting off of Damir. He felt a little guilty for being so happy about the experience. Scooting up next to his brother as close as possible, he whispered, "I'll help you, Da!" Excitement flashed across his face, followed quickly by that little guilty stare. "I'm never better at anything than you," he said, and there was such awe in his voice that he almost hoped they'd find one more thing. Just...one more thing? Damir was the big one, the strong one, the rock of their tiny two-person family and he, Angelius, was finally able to do something Damir could not. It was so often the other way around he almost didn't know what to do with that knowledge. Except. Hug it. And pet it. And love it. "But you'll get good fast," he followed up quickly, reassuring his brother that, in time, he was sure to be even better than Angel. It was inevitable. It always happened. It didn't occur to his nine-year-old mind at the time that everyone has strengths and weaknesses, and that was perfectly alright.

Watching Damir spar with Syrus, though… After he picked his jaw up off the ground, he crossed his arms and watched closely, hoping to learn something before Syrus was knocking him around like a cat playing with a teeny tiny little dustball.

"Well done," Syrus praised the older boy. "Now. Defend." He moved toward him quickly, reaching out as though to cuff him upside the head again. Damir ducked and bobbed away, because he was already showing signs of being a damn ninja. "Good," Syrus said. Compliments from Syrus would become rarer as they advanced, having to be earned and not freely given. Somehow this came across to both of the boys, and they cherished the little smiles and pats on the back (figuratively of course). But then came Angel's turn. He cautiously advanced toward Syrus as if the older man might actually bite him.

He didn't immediately register the look in his eye; but later he would understand it was similar to the one Damir had gotten with the horses. There was a lot of work to be done here. "Due to your size," Syrus began, but at the look on Angel's face he quickly added, "...and age, you will not begin the same exercises Damir will. However, it is still necessary to assess what you know, as that will determine your course of training." Angel nodded to show he understood, but stood rooted to the spot, evaluating the tall man. He knew he wasn't strong enough to try the foot-tugging move Damir had pulled off (omg he had _totally _pulled that off!) and he really had no clue what else to do. So he, too, tried to mimic Syrus's stance, and found that, at least, wasn't too ridiculously hard. For a moment, they just stared at each other. And then. Angel, for lack of anything better to do, just...launched himself at Syrus. He wouldn't expect something so tiny to come right at him, right? Element of surprise, go! In a full on, charging leap, he _meant _to hit the older man's chest with his shoulder and knock him off balance.

What _actually _happened was that Syrus caught him in mid-air, put him down, and coughed on a quiet laugh. "Alright then," he said, and didn't even need to move to the defending sequence to know Angel was just going to do something odd. The morning had drawn into afternoon, and as if sensing what Syrus was going to say next, Angel's stomach growled. "It is about that time," he said, indicating lunch. "But first, come. There is one more thing." He wanted to see how they handled themselves around weapons, and what each was drawn to. So he led them to the armory, stood guard at the door, and watched them. Angel of course spotted the rack of daggers and other fabulous looking throwing knives and arrowed straight to them. Damir...would finally get to touch everything he had wanted to earlier.

_.xxx._

After earlier events, the praise from Syrus lifted Damir's spirits significantly. _Sure _he still felt horribly shamed and it still sucked butt, but. This... this he could do. He found it exhilarating, too. Being able to dodge Syrus's attack and not take a hit like all the hits he'd taken yesterday? Um, yes please. Was this what it would feel like when he'd start to train? He surely hoped so! The poor child, oh how little he knew about how easy Syrus was going on him. But. He needed the ego boost, so he would have it. He would have it, he would take it, cherish it, and love it for years to come. Beat downs were in he and Angel's future, many much beatdowns. But also, victories. There might be few and maybe a little farther off, but they were there! And they would be cherished!

Angel's turn. Damir backed out of the ring and watched his brother closely. "Come on, Angel, you can do this." He said under his breath, willing encouragement toward the adorable curly-haired… angel. :} And then… he watched in horror as Angel committed the same mistake… or very nearly the same mistake he had done yesterday. TWICE. Charging straight on at these guys wouldn't do it. Hadn't he seen that? He would have to… no. He stopped himself and made a very adult observation. He was not training Angel. He didn't know anything himself. He'd keep his mouth shut. Syrus's laughter was contagious, though… and Damir should get the award of the year for not even cracking a smile at his brother's expense. Okay maybe a teeny tiny microscopic one that was quickly masked when Angel turned sullenly toward him. He trotted over to his brother and only offered an encouraging smile instead. He had no idea what to say that would make Angel feel any better. So. He got a smile. Go team!

Damir stood with Syrus for a long moment scanning the room. There were so many weapons. Things he could not even name. Battleaxes, crossbows, spears, swords, how many weapons did they possibly need? He watched Angel head for a rack of daggers and throwing knives. They looked kind of fun. He grinned and started to follow his brother but his eyes alighted on a rack of swords. He changed course and moved to the rack to look up at the pristine pieces of steel. The rack he examined was different from the rack of swords adjacent. They were a little shorter, a little more curved. They. Were. Beautiful. He wanted one. No. He wanted two. Because unbeknownst to him, he would _have_ the two swords and argue about copyrights to a certain pirate in the future. But we'll talk about that later. :}

_.xxx._

For not knowing a gosh darned thing, Angel tried not to feel too badly for...well. Not even hitting the guy. He would have to learn how to use his size to his advantage instead of feeling down about it, but that day was not today. Or tomorrow. It'd be a while. A really. Really long while. Or at least it would seem like it. Nope, really a long while. Still. He could learn. Right? He took comfort in the smile from Damir, who most admirably had _not_ laughed. He knew it had to have taken a herculean effort on his part. It probably had looked pretty hilarious. Sigh. Well. It would come to him. In time. ...A really, really long time.

The knives were beautiful, and he couldn't resist touching one. Or ten. Or all of them. The bows and their sharpened arrows caught his eye as well, but he couldn't imagine himself being able to actually draw one back. Syrus called the pair back to him after several long, wonderful minutes of touchy-feely-grabby-grabby weapon time, and ushered them back toward the hall. Kalladin, looking no better than he had that morning, waited for them at the door. He gave them something of a stiff smile and dipped a shallow bow to Syrus. He couldn't be blamed for not going lower, considering his midsection was screaming at him and calling him all sorts of dirty names.

"Kalladin has been assigned to accompany you for now," Syrus said. "He will be nice."

"He will be," Kalladin confirmed, his voice perfectly neutral. Syrus quickly disappeared like a friggin ninja, and Kalladin led them into the...mess hall place. Yup.

Syrus knocked at the door on Conrad's study, and waited for the murmur of approval before entering.

"Master Conrad," he greeted his old friend. "I believe we have our work cut out for us with those two." He launched into his report in clear, succinct words that neatly outlined Damir's trouble with heights and horses, his apparent natural affinity for fighting, and Angel's...uh...enjoyment of horses. And. Nothing else. :} He also included the weapons each boy had gravitated toward, for future reference when it came time to hand them one. Or in Angel's case...someday never.

_.xxx._

Damir watched Syrus melt into the shadows. Probably off to report to Conrad about his fear of horses and Angel's… not so great skills in the ring. His heart sank. Would he and Angel end up seeing Conrad later that day only to be told that they weren't good enough for this place? He hoped not. For all his hesitation to come here, he already felt like he was home. Don't make us leave plz.

Damir followed Kalladin into the DINING HALL because that sounds so much better than mess hall and cafeteria. They got their food in silence and began eating… in more silence. Finally Damir looked at Kalladin who seemed to find his food the most interesting thing on the whole planet. "I forgive you," he said quietly. The assassin didn't stir. "For hurting my brother." He added. As if it wasn't obvious. "I don't think it's fair that they would hurt you like that."

"It's nothing." Kalladin mumbled. "It will heal."

"But it's not right." Damir argued.

"It is our way." Which was so not true, but Kalladin only knew Palin, he didn't know any other mentors and how they treated their apprentices. His comment scared Damir. Although, he recalled Conrad talking to a mentor earlier and pointing at Kalladin. He had looked angry. Very angry. Conrad didn't seem like the type to hurt the assassins like that, or allow others to. He couldn't think of anything else to say to the mopey assassin so he looked at Angel worriedly and finished his meal in silence, because what else was there to do?

Kalladin led them out of the dining hall. "I'm only here to accompany you for now. If you would like to return to your room I will guide you there. If you wish to move about the grounds more, I'll watch over you." The assassin spoke in a numb formal tone. Must obey the orders of Mentor Palin. No more beatings plz. Of course the numb tone would drop after a day and his personality would return but for now… the pain was too much IN HIS FACE and a reminder for him to be anything else but respectful to the boys.

Damir looked at Angel expectantly. "Well, what do you want to do? I picked last time."

Conrad looked up from the letter he was reading. Another threat. They were growing more frequent. He was afraid that these threats would turn into attacks. The safe houses would be fine; they were secure and aggressively watched. It was the girls he was concerned about. Most of the brothels could take care of their own. Their information and occasional protection was vital to the Brotherhood. Not to mention some of his assassins'… extracurricular activities. If there was an attack on them, it could mean war.

The assassin rubbed at his eyes and moved around the desk to lean a hip against it, folding his arms across his chest to listen. When Syrus finished he resisted the impulse to drop his head into a hand. What had he gotten himself into? No, it wasn't a decision he regretted. He needed assassins. The two boys had a fire in them that he hadn't seen in many. They would make fine assassins. _If_ they could overcome the trials ahead. He had had assassins in the past that had come to him that had a fear of heights. Damir's, though, was panic-inducing from the sounds of it. It might be a little tougher to overcome, but it was possible. In the end, it was up to Damir if he could move past his fears. Syrus could possibly help the boy with the fear of horses. Angelius, on the other hand. He had never taken on someone so young or small. It could be used as an advantage, but he wouldn't know how the boy would hold up in the sparring ring.

It was well enough that both seemed to excel at something. He would have been _really_ worried if both just flopped on the ground with so much failure that he would consider sending them back to the alley. He was not so callous as to give up on them so easily after one day. No… They had a chance, he would give them that chance, and that was good enough for him.

He nodded. "Thank you, Syrus. I believe you are correct. It's good that they are young then, hmm? It gives us extra time to help them hone their skills and help Damir overcome those fears. Do you think you can help him with his fear of the horses? Kalladin may be of some help to Angelius in the sparring sessions, but that will yet be decided. I will have his assigned mentor pay close attention to him. It may only take time for his skills to surface."

_.xxx._

"I forgive you, too," Angel chimed in. Kalladin might have smiled if his face didn't ache so friggin much right now. There was a little more light in his eyes than there had been before, though. He wasn't sure he could have been so generous to someone who outright attacked him at such a young age. These two were special indeed. He probably would have gloated. And laughed. And cackled. You got what you deserve, nah nah nah! That sort of thing. Palin was not an easy Mentor when he was in a good mood, much less when he wasn't. Losing the knife and reminding the man of his own lost son was a terrible combination, and he knew he had paid dearly for it. Whether or not there'd be a round 2 he wasn't yet sure, as he had been so focused on his breakfast earlier (and trying to eat it) that he hadn't noticed Conrad's ire.

Angel shrugged as they headed back outside, grateful someone was with them to shield them from the stares and whispers of the other assassins. It made him...uneasy, to have so many strange eyes on him, and the buffer was well appreciated. Did Conrad not recruit new boys often? Oh, he'd been asked a question. Hah, where did he want to go? Back to the stables, naturally. But he knew Damir wouldn't feel comfortable there, so he suggested something a little easier. "Maybe we could see the edges of the Castello? Where the boundaries are?" Those were important things to know. They would also see some Leap-of-Faith ledges, which had not yet been explained to them.

"Sure," Kalladin said, and set off at a slow, sedate walk. Because. Anything faster was just not going to happen.

Syrus inclined his head, his eyes sharp as he eyed the papers on Conrad's desk. He knew merely by the way the man stood that the situation was not improving. He hadn't risen through the ranks of the Brotherhood by being a total numbnuts. He knew Conrad, and he knew Conrad very well indeed. Tension settled in around his shoulders and he couldn't shake the feeling something bad was coming. Whatever it was, he would be ready. First, however, he would answer the question still hanging in the air like a physical being.

"Yes," he agreed. "I believe I can, though his brother may prove to be a more useful tool in that area." He'd seen the way Angel desperately wanted to help Damir with the problem. "If not, I will step in." He'd give the shrimp a chance, first. Understanding the meaning behind Conrad's words, he nodded and said nothing more on the subject. Either the boy would make it, or he would not. It was up to him, really. His eyes flicked back to the letters.

"If you have need of me," he said, "you know I am here." And he always would be, for he would not be where he was without Conrad, and his loyalty was fierce.

_.xxx._

If Damir could just melt through the cracks of the stone-worked pathway and go right back to their room, he would have. Why, oh why had he let Angel pick? He guessed Angel hadn't noticed that he hadn't liked the view from atop the first cliff. At all. Which was good. His brother didn't need to know the fears that just kept piling up. He had to wonder how many more would he accrue with time? He'd be labeled "scaredy assassin" in their hall of fame. Did they have one of those. Here he was already assuming he would even get to _be_ an assassin. Angel was going to find out sooner or later. He hung back as Kalladin led them up a different set of wide stairs than the ones they had traversed before.

He looked up and saw red flags snapping in the wind atop a large building that he assumed was where Conrad spent a lot of his time. Scaffolding marred the building's side and he had to wonder what it was for. Acrobats? Were they building something else? It sure looked like something convenient to climb on. They reached the top and the cliff stretched out in a wide half-circle. Thin, long platforms jutted out from the stone every six feet or so. They looked sturdy enough for a man to walk out onto to… what? Sight see? He noticed there was no wall or fence to keep any accidental misstep. Dangerous indeed. So what were they for?

Damir looked up at the clear sky and then stepped back to lean against the stone wall behind him. He closed his eyes to avoid watching Kalladin walk along the edge seemingly without a care in the world. It made him dizzy. "When you graduate," he heard Kalladin say. "You will have to perform a Leap of Faith." He led Angel to each platform so the boy could see. "It's part of the ceremony. It's a way to show your devotion to the Brotherhood." The assassin explained. _Well that's just great_, Damir thought. _I may not even be able to _graduate.

Conrad mused over that thought. Interesting. "Good. Observe the boys and if Angelius makes progress, I will allow it." He watched his friend look back at the letter and knew what he was thinking. He made eye contact with Syrus and gave a slight shake of his head. '_Not now.'_ The cue clearly indicated.

"Thank you Syrus. You are excused." He inclined his head to the horsemaster… assassin of doom. Later bro.

_.xxx._

In the weeks to come, Kalladin would heal and prove himself to be something of a friend to both of the boys, though he continued to be infinitely cautious of his handling of them and never, ever sparred with the pair. Not even in jest. He remembered Palin's wrath too well to misstep. It was nothing if not an effective training tool, at least when it came to young boys. Angel was tasked with...well. Growing. He ran, he trained with weights and other things more suited to his age and size, while Damir was already learning the basics of hand-to-hand combat. It frustrated him to see Damir advancing without him, but he could do absolutely nothing about it. He did, however, excel at the horses. Syrus had gone out and brought home a fine little stallion perfectly suited to Angel's size. And young. The horse would grow with him. The significance of the gift was not lost on Angelius. Syrus believed he _could_ advance. Believed in him. It warmed his heart and fueled the fire that kept him going, even when watching Damir move forward made his heart ache.

It helped, too, that he'd finally been able to talk his brother into coming down to the stable with him. He still struggled with horses and riding, and Angel was bound and determined to stuff his increasing knowledge down Damir's throat, because he felt useless otherwise and gosh DARNIT DAMIR YOU WILL LET ME LOVE YOOOOU. His little stallion, named Irriador, was perfectly gentle with his rider. Mostly because Angel had a touch of the horse magic, because the narrator frikken says so. If only those people in their little town had known! Perhaps they wouldn't have thought him so useless after all. Though tired from what felt like marathons they had him running, he eagerly awaited his brother's arrival as he stood in the ring, the pitch-black stallion snuffing curiously at the dirt around his feet. He had chosen Irriador to help Damir partly because he felt like the horse was a piece of his own heart, and partly because he was small and less likely to intimidate his older brother, whom he would swear was growing taller by the second. It was completely unfair, especially as Angel maintained his small size. Cursed, cursed by the gods of shortness indeed. Irriador huffed and he pat the sturdy shoulder to comfort himself. This was good. He could help. He could do something right.

Probably.

_.xxx._

The training had started sooner than Damir had anticipated. Why he had thought that they would start later, he didn't know. Training was hard. Really hard, and he knew it was only the very basics right now. If it was difficult for him, he couldn't imagine how Angel must have felt. He watched how his younger brother struggled with the fairly simple maneuvers. Well, at least they seemed simple enough to him. Maybe he would try and help his brother with some of the things he learned. He didn't know how well he would be able to teach the moves, but he would try. Damir could tell how frustrated his brother was becoming and he felt his pain. It was the same with his ridiculous fear of the horses. It frustrated him how much the animals frightened him. There had been some progress with Angel's gentle instruction but he was annoyed at how little he thought there was. The beasts still put the fear of God in him. Maybe a smaller God but… it was still there.

It had been another day of exhausting sparring that Angel and Damir had to endure. Battered and bruised, they retreated to their room and flopped onto the soft pads and blankets. Damir wanted to sleep for a million years. His wish was interrupted by a soft knock on the door and Kalladin poking his head in. "Conrad wants to see you." He said simply and then left. Uh-oh. That couldn't be good. Couldn't be good. At all. He looked at Angelius as if his brother knew. Angelius shrugged.

Damir struggled to his feet and slipped out of their room. He jogged up the path to where Conrad apparently lived. Where did he even sleep? Standing up with his eyes open? An assassin that was passing Damir in leaving stopped and offered to show him where Conrad was. You mean Conrad _wasn't _in the area with the desk and books and all that stuff? The nice assassin showed him into a room that Damir had never seen before. Weaponry of every kind that made the weapons he'd seen in the armory underground look like sticks and pieces of metal dug out of the ground. Some were on racks and others in glass casings. There were a few mannequins that donned leather workings or small pieces of armor. Barely enough to fully protect a man, he thought, personally.

Conrad was in there, bent over Angelius's dagger lying on top of a cloth atop one of the glass casings with a strange artifact in it. He was inspecting the knife critically. "Damir," he greeted without looking up. Damir bowed shallowly, following suit as all the other assassins did. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to call him Master Conrad yet or not, so he kept quiet. "As I understand it, you seem to have a bit of a problem." He looked up at the boy, one eyebrow raised.

Damir looked at the master assassin blankly. "I do?"

Was this child going to fall behind in his studies? He had such hope for him. Conrad straightened and turned, exiting the room. Damir stared after Conrad and then hurried to follow because he figured that's what the man expected him to do. Man, that guy had a lot of nonverbal cues that he needed to start learning. And fast. They walked through another plain looking room furnished with some comfortable looking chairs and sofas. There was a French door window at the far side of the room. Conrad moved to it in that same creepy silence that Damir had noticed a lot of the assassins possessed. Conrad did it best, as far as he could tell. The assassin pushed the windowed doors open and the wind rushed in. Damir continued after the tall man out onto a rail-less platform. The river far far below was a tiny crack in the landscape.

Damir gasped and quickly backed away from the ledge. "That problem." Conrad pointed out in a calm tone. The boy looked up at him, fear in his dark blue eyes. Was Conrad going to kick him out now? Damir's mind raced. What was he going to do? He searched the floor trying to think of what he could say to stay here. And then. He was airborne. His heart leapt up into his throat and he gave a small shout in protest as Conrad-despite the inch or so Damir had grown since his birthday, the man could still easily toss him around-grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and dangled him just outside the window.

Damir… well. He… thought he was gonna die. Again. He was afraid of heights and so he gets tossed out the window? But Conrad held him there, firmly.

"Damir!" The boy gasped, realizing that Conrad had probably said his name a few times and locked eyes with the man. "Look down." He commanded.

Damir struggled and couldn't keep the small whimper from escaping his lips. "I-I can't."

"I said. Look. Down."

Conrad, being who he was, and having that ultimate authority in his voice… Damir looked down. And nearly passed out. He screwed his eyes shut and clutched at the man's arm for dear life.

"Damir, look at me." It took him a veeery long time, but Damir finally opened his eyes and looked at Conrad, his eyes watering from the wind and well. Fear. "I will not. Let you go." The man told him firmly. Matter of factly. "Do you understand me?" He waited for an answer but Damir took too long in answering. "I said, do you understand me?" Damir finally nodded his head quickly in agreement.

"Good." The assassin stepped away from the window and gently set the boy down of which he collapsed into a heap. "You will overcome this. Come see me again after you spar. You are excused." He gave Damir a moment to collect himself and then watched with a sliiiiiight glint of amusement in his eyes as the boy scrambled to his feet and more or less ran from the premises.

Damir panted as he ran to the stables to meet his brother. The whole time he shook, fear and adrenaline still running through him like lightning. He slowed to a walk as his brother came into view and attempted to collect and compose himself. Conrad was going to kill him. Or the horses would. Whichever came first. That was it.

_.xxx._

Being unaware as to why his brother was taking longer than usual, Angel was working with Irriador on some more complicated things. He had picked up the art of horsemanship ridiculously quickly once he had a horse who suited his size and listened to both his legs, hands _and _voice, instead of Dinara, who would only obey verbal cues as his legs were just not good enough for her. She's a butt man. Ahem, anyway. Syrus trusted him to be around the animals alone, and he spent nearly all the time he wasn't with Damir with the heart-thieving horse who, as far as he was concerned, was his other brother. Head held high and tail flagging behind him, Irriador raced towards him at a full gallop. Angel balanced in the fighting stance, light on his feet, watching the horse and holding his ground. He didn't see Damir approach, so focused was he on this new trick he was teaching the four-legged smartypants. Irriador brought out his confidence well and truly, and he felt older, more complete. Yes. More cheese plz.

As the horse charged directly at the boy, Angel suddenly took one, tiny neat step. His fingers caught the silky mane and, with the stallion never once breaking stride, he pulled himself onto the smooth, bare back, and Irriador circled the ring at full speed, rider firmly clamped to his sides and his long tail flicking with pleasure. He knew they'd gotten it right. And Angelius knew that, if there had been the slightest hint of wrongness about the way he stood or if he had slipped, Irriador would have stopped himself cold.

As they whirled around the arena, sending dirt clouds (CLOWDS) billowing out behind them, Angel caught side of Damir. And the look on his face. He could practically sense his fear from where he sat, confident and happy as a freaking clam on his horses' back. "Damir!" He cried his brother's name, fear suddenly washing over him. Why did he look like that? What was wrong? Were they getting kicked out? Had Conrad told Damir to just...pass along the sad news? Irriador needed no cues. He sprang towards the gate and slid to a halt a respectful distance from Damir as Angel dismounted while the horse was still in motion. The grace he couldn't manage on the arena floor, he had here. Why it up and _ditched _his face when it mattered and he was getting squashed by his Mentor, he had absolutely no idea. It frustrated his teachers, but it frustrated him even more.

"What's wrong?" he asked anxiously. Irriador hung his fine head over Angel's shoulder and eyed the older brother curiously. Indeed, what had these silly humans in such a fuss now? If the situations had been reversed, Angel knew a simple visit to the stables would fix everything, but Damir...hopefully he could squish his brother into loving horses just as much, so he would have a safe haven, too. It was also where he went when the teasing and the picking on him got to be a little...much. Damir was so busy with sparring and training all the time it just wasn't feasible to go to him whenever he felt awful. Especially since that was so _often._ And he had a sinking feeling it wasn't going to get better until he could hold his own, which he was having dreadful trouble with. One hand on Irriador's nose, he waited for Damir to explain his...very sad state. Which. He had tried to fix. But. Angel knows things. Even if it is after the fact because his narrator forgets to add stuff. All. The time.

_.xxx._

Damir had been _so_ proud of himself when he had finally managed to stop flinching when Angel would bring Irriador near him. And most of the other horses for that matter. But his nerves were a wreck and when Irriador looked like he was charging _directly at_ him he backpedaled several steps immediately. The small logical voice in his head told him that Angel was perfectly in control of the horse and wouldn't let something like that happen. But the charging horse kicked his hindbrain into high gear and he almost turned tail and ran. Wouldn't that have looked awesome?

He didn't! But it was close. "Um, nothing. Just… Tired. I got hit hard a few times in sparring. Hurts." Monosyllables. Probably wouldn't go over well with Angel. ALWAYS UP IN HIS BIDNESS. "Conrad wants to work on some things with me privately. I'm not doing well enough with them and he… doesn't want me to," He paused, thinking. Doesn't want him to what? "Doesn't want it to interrupt my training." He corrected quickly. "Can we do some of the horse stuff," he gestured vaguely at the stables and Irriador, "tomorrow? I don't think I can handle it today." Not at all. He felt sick in every sense of the word.

_.xxx._

Angel frowned. A silent cue sent Irri ambling away, looking more like an innocent puppy than a horse. Which was of course what Angel wanted. He suspected sometimes the horse was smarter than he was.

"Are you sure?" he asked, doubt in his voice. Damir had gotten better and better at lying it seemed, and it was growing more difficult to tell. "Don't lie to me, Da," he said, and turned just slightly as Irriador snorted at a couple passing assassins. No threat. The horse went back to sniffing and standing around looking stoic. "What'd they do? I could try to run them over with Iri," he offered. The little black stallion would likely do it if he asked. Unless it was Syrus. Irriador respected Syrus. "I thought maybe we would try something different," he said, allowing his voice to take on wheedling tones. He just wished he could give Damir the freedom he felt on a horse's back. Who knows, in another life...he might have competed in the snooty, highbrow equestrian sports rich people seemed to love. He would have won. A lot. But no, they were here, with things that terrified Damir and immediately flattened any blossom of confidence Angel gained in the ring.

"Please?" he asked, giving Damir full force puppy dog eyes. "I think it'll help." If denied again, he wouldn't pressure his brother further. The blindfold in his pocket felt heavy all of a sudden. Irriador slowly approached, head lowered, as if he could lend his puppy dog eyes too.

_.xxx._

Damir watched the stallion back off and a wave of relief washed over him. It was sad, really. He knew the sweet Irriador most likely wouldn't trample him and his fear was irrational. He had come to really like Irriador, too. He was pals with Angel, and whoever was a pal of Angel's was a pal of his. But everything was just far too overwhelming at the moment. His hands still trembled from his abrupt re-introduction to gravity, or lack thereof, courtesy of Conrad. He rubbed his palms on his robes, something that was quickly becoming a nervous habit.

"They?" He asked in confusion and then it clicked. "Oh, nothing. Other than the usual." He responded offhandedly. As Angel pressed, Damir's look hardened. "I said no, Angel. Not today." There was a note of anger that stood out starkly in his statement. "We can do it tomorrow." He growled and turned heel to stalk off to their room. He would later, of course, apologize to his brother for getting upset with him. He would stick to his tired excuse, though. Conrad and Syrus were the only ones that were supposed to be on a need-to-know basis as far as his fear of heights was concerned. Angel could skip out on that one. Horses were enough.


	4. Chapter 4: Training Could Be More Fun

It was a week later when Conrad summoned the boys to see him. He presented them with the gray robes that signified their status as official apprentices. The robes didn't fit well. It was meant to be that way for the first few years. Countermeasure to growth spurts and the like. They also had been given official housing. Which was good, Damir had thought, because sharing a bed with his brother was starting to get old and fast. The housing was still small but it had actual beds in it. One for each of them, a wash area, and an area that Damir later learned was where all their gear usually ended up being dumped.

Damir _dreamed_ of those first few months. They had been at the Castello for a little over a year now and training was grueling. Those first few months were heaven compared to what he suffered through now. Mentor Nikolai seemed to always know just when he was taking a break, or when his moves were sloppy. Hey! No one could fault him for that! He was just so darn tired some days. He would always, _always_ get caught, too. Mentor Nikolai had a sixth sense that way, but he was never cruel, though. Strict maybe. But never cruel. He was a soft spoken man but dang, skippy did he know his stuff and was absolutely ruthless about form. Damir… wanted to dislike him for it. Oh so much did he want to hate the man. Every slap of the wrist or elbow to correct a fraction of an inch misplacement… HE HATED EVERYTHING. But then there was Angel, his poor little brother. He could only stand by and watch as Mentor Nikolai took away Angel's stable privileges in hopes that that would help him in the arena training sessions and stealth tactics. All it did, from what he could tell, was take the joy from his brother's life.

It nearly halted his training with the horses, but Syrus was able to set aside time a few times a week to help him. His confidence had grown and he could freely approach the horses without feeling like running away. Anxiety was still ever present and some days were harder than others, but he _was _improving. That had to mean something, didn't it? He _knew_, just _knew _that he could have been almost completely over his fear if Nikolai hadn't taken the stables away from Angel. Nikolai _had _to see that Angel wasn't doing any better in the ring because of it. Damir's riding skills were sketchy at best, but he _could _sit in the saddle and get the horse to walk. And stop. Which is kind of important, too. It angered him at how much he _could _have learned if they would just let Angel back in! If if if if if. He would have to do as Angel had done. Offer his help with training. He felt confident enough now that he could help his younger brother, and he knew that Angel needed the help. And didn't everyone know he needed the help… Hopefully that would get Nikolai to back off.

Damir's sessions with Conrad were going well. _He _thought. He hoped and prayed Angel hadn't figured out why he was visiting Conrad, and that it stayed that way. At least until he was ready to tell his brother he was afraid of heights. Or what would be amazing would be telling him that he _had_ been afraid of heights, but no longer. Yes please.

The first few sessions had been cruel. Conrad had made Damir stand at the edge of that very same cliff/platform that he'd dangled him off of the first day and told him simply, "If you fall, you'll die. Or end up horribly mangled. I suggest you not do that." And then just stood there and watched him with arms crossed. Damir had tried backing up a few times away from the edge but Conrad only walked Damir back to the edge. He was such a kind man that way. So helpful.

After the first day Conrad didn't stay and watch. He did ask a time or two if Damir had fallen yet. Damir ground his teeth and replied with a snarky "No." Having to face forward and most of the time instructed to look down, he couldn't see the small smile that played about the master assassin's lips as he was watched. It had been baby steps, but the lessons stopped for a long while when Conrad had to leave on 'an important errand that required his immediate attention' he had said. The desensitization process had to be repeated when he returned. Which, was stupid and Damir hated it. But it wasn't as bad the second time. Progress!

After that, Conrad took Damir to a fenced off area behind the main building where he usually resided. Thick poles were stuck in the ground and staggered in a random pattern. "You will practice on these." Conrad said simply. Damir looked at the man incredulously and then at the poles. They had to be at least six feet tall, far surpassing his own height. "Well?" Damir sighed and walked over to the closest pole, dragging his feet all the way. He tried to climb the pole annnnd… he failed. He slid back down the pole. Conrad shook his head. He walked over to the boy that kept scrabbling at the pole with no luck. The master assassin bent and boosted Damir up until he could grab hold of the top of the pole.

It was an effort, but he was able to pull himself up onto the pole awkwardly. The training had paid off. More training and he would probably be able to pull himself up much easier next time. Damir looked down at Conrad for direction but his vision swam and he snapped his attention back forward. Desensitized to the cliff only? Apparently. "Have you been practicing your balance?" Conrad inquired.

"Yes." Damir answered without looking down.

"Good. Stand up."

Damir swallowed and struggled to stand up on the pole. It was thick enough that he could squish one foot and half of the other on it. He wobbled dangerously and considered falling just for fun (not), but managed to find his equilibrium. Conrad gave a curt nod of approval. And the crowd goes wild!

"Now you have more time to practice." He turned to leave. "You can either stay there or gain some skill." He meant hopping from pole to pole, Damir knew. The leap to the next closest pole looked daunting. "The poles will be raised tomorrow." With that said, Conrad left. Damir stood there looking as pitiful as ever. Wobbling on the pole, unable to look down. He considered climbing down and sitting on the dirt. He could always just scramble right on up the pole again when Conrad came back to get him, but he just _knew _that would result in him being introduced to the ground at the bottom of the cliff. So he stood there. And wobbled. All good. This was fun.

It had been another long day of training. Stealth + sparring. = the worst. The. Worst. At one point, Damir felt like he may _actually_ wind up stuck in a permanent crouch. He hurt all over. It seemed like his whole body was always one big ache. Some days worse than others. He rest his forearm on a wall and pressed his forehead against it, closing his eyes.

"Oh loook, it's daaaddy!" One of the boys Damir sparred with regularly cat-called.

Damir looked up at the boy to find some other apprentices following him. His brow furrowed. "What?"

"Isn't that what your brother calls you?"

"Calls me what?" Damir asked, totally lost on the subject.

"Daddy. That's gross, you know. Are you really his dad? His brother _and_ his dad? Did your mom… do things to you?" The boy, taller and older than Damir, smirked. There were titters from the other boys. Damir had a sudden flashback of the incident in the alley when he and Angel had first stumbled upon the Brotherhood.

"What? No!" Damir said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Then why does he call you dad, huh?" One of the other boys crooned.

"It's… it's just a nickname." Damir stuttered. "I'm not his dad." He added angrily.

"Disgusting nickname…" Another boy laughed under his breath.

Damir's face heated. "I'm not his dad." He repeated, wanting ever so much to punch them all in the face but knew that fighting outside the sparring ring was forbidden. Even if he could take them all on, which wasn't likely, there was no way to prove that they had started it. He would have thrown the first punch anyway. Nikolai would not be pleased. He did not take kindly to being embarrassed by his students. Damir worked his jaw in frustration then turned and stalked off to his and Angel's dorm. Screw them. What else was he supposed to do? Tell Conrad? Hah! Yeah right. Whatever.

_.xxx._

Things changed. Fast. Not for the better, either. At least not for Angel. He felt like he could see massive improvement in his brother, but none in himself. In fact, it often seemed as if he was going backwards. The day Syrus greeted him at the barn door, arms crossed and eyes stony, was the worst on record. He was spending too much time at the stable and not enough time learning what they were attempting to drill into his head. _No more horses._ Irriador screamed for him, a most unholy and heart wrenching sound he prayed to never hear again. Syrus sent the stallion away for a time, where he could no longer smell his former master and wonder why Angel had apparently deserted him.

If anything, it only made him worse. He couldn't understand the way things were taught. Nikolai was a firm taskmaster and though he tried, he really really did, he just couldn't grasp it. His Mentor made time after regular sessions to work with him. Nothing came of it. Without the horses, he only hung on for Damir. When private lessons were over, he came back again, and practiced on his own. Any improvements were very slight, and if they were noticed, no one pointed it out. He felt ridiculously stupid. Why was it all so difficult? How was it possible to pick up on everything horse-related so easily, but completely fail to do so in the ring where it really mattered? The teasing didn't help.

"Poor little _helpless _Angel."

"Aww, wings not working today?"

"They must have kicked you out of heaven. Were you useless there, too?"

It wasn't like he could defend himself. He was quick, and usually he could escape their grasp. Not always. Nikolai tried to coach him on that, but it was like talking to a wall. When Angel applied what he'd been told, it didn't work. Neither mentor nor student could quite figure out why. It surely wasn't for lack of effort on either of their parts. But at the end of the day, the reports just weren't good, although he had started to get a bit taller and had more muscle than he'd come in with. Finally. His poor performance, coupled with the continued harassment considering his name, only had his spirits sinking lower. What would he do if Conrad asked him to leave? He wondered. Cry in the corner, probably. He was trying so so hard, and hated that it didn't matter. The saddest part was he'd only been tasked with learning the basics. And if he couldn't master those, there would be no point at all in moving forward to more advanced training.

When the last session of the day ended, he hauled his miserable, aching body to Conrad's study, where he waited to be admitted. When he was, he stood in front of the desk with his eyes focused dully on the carpet, wondering how much the big man must despise him. After all, Conrad had taken a chance. While it would surely pay off with Damir, it wasn't for him. Surely people get kicked out of the program all the time though, right? Right?

"Master Conrad," he said quietly. "Um... Would it be against the rules here to change my name?" If Conrad couldn't figure out why, well...he'd be frightened for his intelligence.

_.xxx._

Conrad stood on the other side of the desk with a big book of maps in his hand. He wasn't quite certain why Angelius had sought him out today specifically. Did he want to request additional training? How much more training could they possibly spare for him? Conrad had seen how hard Angelius had been working and still with little improvement. Was there something wrong with his coordination? He seemed perfectly capable on a horse, why on the ground, then, was he, well. Flat-footed? The grace he'd seen in the boy while atop the horses vanished completely and utterly in the ring. The contrast between Damir and Angelius was almost hilarious. There were things that could be done to… "help" the boy, but Conrad was strictly against them. Angelius was too young. Far too young for those methods, and those methods had been abolished since he had taken up Leadership of the Brotherhood. If Angelius didn't improve soon, though, his chances as an assassin were dwindling.

He ran his finger over the lines of the map on a particular page, mentally calculating the distance on it. There would have to be another… "trip" to take soon. The reports that were coming in weren't getting any better. The news that _was_ good was only swallowed up by the bad. Guilds were looking to the Brotherhood for aid and he wasn't sure if he could provide it. Pulling his thoughts back to the present, he glared at the book in his hands. Ah, so Angelius was requesting a name change… "Why?" He asked without turning around and continued his map glaring. He had a guess as to the reason, but it didn't seem like Angelius to waltz right on into his office and ask for a name change. Who does that? Angelius apparently. Something, or some_one_ was getting to him that had urged him into the study to request a new Naming. Not without good reason would he allow it. A 'just because' would not suffice.

_.xxx._

Ah, here was where he would have to admit he couldn't handle the teasing of the other boys. Hopefully that wasn't a requirement of all assassins: must be able to take a joke. Even the mean-spirited ones. His eyes remained on the carpet, picking out individual threads as he tried to formulate a response. Conrad wouldn't care the other boys teased, he figured, but maybe if he phrased it right?

"I am having..." What were the words his Mentor so often used? "Difficulty," he decided on the word. "Focusing. On. Improving myself." He paused for a moment but kept the sarcastic 'even though it's not working anyway' comment to himself. "When my..." Confounded English language! "...peers," ahah, that was the right word. "Like to focus on my name only." It was getting worse each day, and even harder to focus on Nikolai when he was being constantly nagged at with snippy little comments. A hard look from the Mentor usually quelled them briefly, but they weren't always in his earshot, either. "I believe I would...benefit," he continued, "from a change." Finally prying his gaze from the floor, he managed to get it as far as Conrad's general... Face area. "I'm trying," he said, his voice a near whisper. He thought back to their first meeting, and prayed once again that he'd just say yes. If he didn't, Angel wasn't sure how much more of the taunting he could manage while simultaneously failing miserably at life. Maybe Conrad would take a little pity on him. Just. Maybe.

_.xxx._

Conrad listened patiently to Angelius struggle to find the right words to phrase his reasoning behind a request for a new name. Conrad does indeed have a lot of patience. His expression softened marginally so. He knew how hard Angelius was trying. He didn't doubt that, but he simply could not ease up on the boy. There would be no favoritism. That didn't mean he couldn't show him kindness. He wasn't so cruel as to deny Angelius such a simple request. He had suspected that Damir's quick nickname for his brother could, and looked like it was playing a part in the smaller boy's downfall. (Hehehehe….)

Conrad snapped the book shut and turned, setting it down on the desk. He assessed the boy and could very nearly see the frustration and pain wafting off of him. He did want to do well and it wasn't coming to him the same as it wasn't coming to his mentors. If the other students were torturing him over a name, that would indeed be a distraction. He did not need an added addition to his already growing frustration. "Did you have something in mind?" You can't just come into my office, ask for a name change and not have something in mind, child!

_.xxx._

The slamming of the book made him jump. He sighed inwardly. Great. Another reason for Conrad to want to toss him out the window. Of course, then came the question.

It was greeted by a blank look.

Damn. In his exhaustion he hadn't even thought of a name he might actually like in the event Conrad said yes. He considered a moment. Their father's name had been John, but...would such a reminder hurt Damir? Probably. Unacceptable. He tossed that idea and tried to think of something else.

He proceeded to fail horribly. Oh look, a trend! Angel rubbed a hand over his eyes and berated himself for the 15th time about what an idiot he was. "I'm sorry, Master Conrad," he said. "I...wasn't sure you would agree and I didn't want to...pick a name I couldn't use." Well. It was true, anyways. Except. There he was again, feeling like the biggest idiot ever, in front of the man who had changed his and Damir's fates. But he knew that if he failed completely, Conrad wouldn't take it out on Damir. It was a small comfort, and he clung to it like the only raft in a storm.

_.xxx._

Ah, no name. He had assumed as such. It was a good thing at least. If he had come in announcing that he wanted to change his name to… say, Hans, it would have been an immediate no. Hans… did not fit this kid. And children tended to pick names that did not suit them. Wild imaginations, they had. Although, Angelius and Damir had been forced to grow up in many ways. Their childhood had been stolen away from them. Some of it had been given back by coming to the Castello. Some. Training to be an assassin was not exactly considered a normal childhood. "Very well." Conrad said slowly, considering his options available for the serious young boy. He stalked around his desk and studied Angelius. He could see the pain in the boy's eyes. Improvements needed to be made or there was a dark path ahead of this young one.

He studied Angelius for a long moment and then… "Elias." He said simply. Conrad hadn't looked up to many assassins during his training and he had only worked with the one named Elias once. He'd never seen him again after that. His name wasn't in the Brotherhood's records either, not that he could find once he'd become Leader. The odds had been against them during that mission. Monumentally so. Elias had been the one to pull them out. It was fitting. Angelius-now Elias, would be able to overcome this and he _would_ become the assassin that he knew he could be. Conrad turned back and headed to a set of shelves that bulged with more books of… maps to peruse probably. "You are excused." He said as he selected an old volume and opened it, the pages cracking as he did. Yay, maps.

_.xxx._

Overwhelming relief crashed over him in a wave, and his thank-you was somewhat buried by it. He had a sudden and very, very brief urge to hug the assassin, but he was pretty sure that would only end in being tossed outside on his head. He hesitated a moment, watching him. If Conrad were his father, he wouldn't have even thought about it. But he wasn't, and Angel-no, Elias-could feel the tenuous relationship between them ready to give way at any given moment. He wasn't sure he could handle being pushed away. So instead, he bowed to Conrad's back and left before he could find out what a surprise hug would mean for either of them. Probably death.

He trudged down to the living quarters. Another adjustment. But Damir seemed to enjoy it, so he tried to do the same. Since his brother was already home, he quickened his pace. "Hey, Da," he said as he came through the door, completely unaware of the nastiness that had already been direct at Damir that day. "Guess what?" he sank into a chair and stared at his brother expectantly. "Conrad-Master Conrad," he corrected himself. "Let me pick a new name. Well. Actually he picked it. But now the boys won't make fun of it," he said. Not 'me.' They'd still probably make fun of _him. _At least there was one less thing to latch onto, though. "Elias," he added., trying it out for the first time. He liked it. Maybe everything would be okay after all.

_.xxx._

Damir grimaced at the nickname, memories of the boys' taunts ringing in his ears. He went back to busying himself with attempting to fix the stupid hidden blade cuff. The mentors had been allowing him to use it in the rare underground sparring sessions he had been recently allowed to attend. They didn't usually let the younger apprentices handle the "official" weaponry. For now, it was only the sparring sticks that, at most could cause a broken bone if the blow was hard enough. The mentors prevented that from happening. Bruises, on the other hand, were the young apprentices' best friends.

He muttered in frustration and jerked at the leather that wouldn't give way to let the mechanism release the tiny blade. And tiny it was indeed, because, _really_ it was basically a kid's toy for the older assassins. A needle in comparison to their own hidden blades. He finally gave up and threw the cuff. It hit the far wall and the mechanism clicked, releasing the small blade. He glared at it, spotting the reason why it hadn't come free the way it _should _have. The blade was bent. Damir sighed and dropped his head into his hands. "I don't know why they make fun of it, anyway. There's nothing wrong with Angelius or Angel." Damir commented, his annoyance at the stupid cuff, at the boys for making fun of him, and exhaustion all added together had made him grumpy. Really, he knew that 'Angel' was the perfect name for the perfect insults. And perfect pickup lines. His frustration just had to aim itself at his brother, too. Just a tiny bit.

"Okay, Elias." He muttered under his breath. Damir wasn't annoyed about the name change, _technically_, the name actually suited Angelius… it would be… an adjustment and he would miss calling his brother by his nickname but hey. It was the bullies that annoyed him. The bullies that had driven Angel, no, _Elias_ to Master Conrad to ask for a new name. He rest his chin on the palm of his hand. "Can you… not call me 'Da' anymore, then?" Fair was fair, right? Sort of. It was a part of their brotherly bond, but, well, he didn't want to be tormented either…

_.xxx._

Elias watched Damir fight with the cuff for a long moment before refocusing his gaze on his hands. He was getting very good about no longer making any sort of eye contact. It just took too much energy, and he didn't have much of that to spare anymore. Plus, Damir was getting to work with weapons now when he still hadn't moved on to anything more than a slightly bigger stick. Granted, they were small and maybe insignificant to a full grown assassin, but it meant everything to the boys old enough...and good enough...to have one. He winced at the crookedness of the blade. It was an honor to get one of those. Now wasn't a good time to remind Damir of it, though.

"I guess not," he said of his name. "I never thought it was so bad before." he shrugged. "Elias is better." He hoped to use it like a shield against his tormentors. He would fail at that, too, but for the moment it gave him some comfort.

Then the hammer dropped.

"...what?" he asked, and wondered where the hell this numb feeling had been for the past year or so of hell. How convenient for it to show up now, of all moments. "I mean. Why?" It was nearly unimaginable to think of never calling Damir by the nickname again. It symbolized so much! Why would he not want it now?

_.xxx._

Damir knew that one was coming knew that lying wouldn't have solved anything. He rubbed at the back of his head uncomfortably. What the boys had said _had_ struck a nerve in his poor little teenage body. That stupid acceptance one. The one that made him wish he could be accepted by everyone and not he, nor An-Elias, he mentally corrected himself. That really was going to take some getting used to. But, they were right. He wasn't Elias's dad. He'd never taken on that role. The idea made him extremely uncomfortable as he tried to picture himself in place of his father and it almost made him sick. "Because… Because I'm not your dad." He said lamely. "I'm not Father." He reiterated, hoping that that sounded better. It didn't.

"The other apprentices think that you think I'm your father… so… maybe just… say it privately?" He looked at his brother helplessly. He didn't know what to do either. The silence hung there and Damir thought he was going to suffocate on it but a barely audible knock on the door probably saved his life. He rolled to his feet and opened the door a crack and could only stare in shock. Conrad stood on the other side of the door.

"Damir." He greeted. Damir bowed quickly and opened the door a little wider so his brother could see who it was. Conrad looked over Damir's head and nodded to Elias. "Elias." He said in greeting to the younger of the two. The master assassin turned his attention back to Damir. "Will you walk with me?"

Damir glanced back at his sullen brother worriedly and then nodded. "Yes, Master Conrad." He stepped out of the little housing and closed the door behind him. Conrad began walking down the stone pathway, away from the housing complexes. Damir followed and watched the tall man, waiting for him to say something. It was an eternity of just their breathing and the soft sounds of their boots on the path. Damir's more than Conrad's. Maybe in time he'd be as quiet as Conrad? He sure hoped so.

"Stop dragging your feet." Conrad instructed, breaking the silence. "You will give yourself away."

Damir caught his sigh of annoyance from escaping, but just barely. "Are we having another session, Master Conrad?"

"No," he replied quietly. He was quiet for another long moment. "Elias's skills are not improving as quickly as they should. Has he taken extra time to practice?" Conrad knew that he had to be, but confirmation helped quell any doubts. He needed to know for certain in the case that it should be corrected.

"Yes. Mentor Nikolai spends a lot of time with him, too. He's trying, Master Conrad. Nobody knows how to help him." Damir said sadly.

"Do you?"

Damir blinked. "Well… I… Don't know. I was going to ask him if he wanted me to… help him. Because he helped me with the horses. But I wasn't sure if I was advanced enough to help him. Maybe that would be better?"

Conrad nodded. "Your brother's skills have not improved much since he was first brought on. That is not a good sign. Do you understand, Damir?"

Damir stopped, trying to piece together what Conrad was implying. "Is he…"

"You need to help him succeed or he will not make it here. He will not be fit for this life, Damir. He would only be a hindrance. If he does not succeed there is not much else I can offer him. I do not wish to lose you as well, you are a quick student, but I know you will follow your brother."

Damir stared blankly at Conrad. If Elias didn't improve, they were gone? Out of there? Well… Elias was but… like Conrad had said… he would never leave his brother's side. "The stables." Damir said quickly. Conrad arched a brow. "The stables," Damir repeated. "Syrus and Mentor Nikolai took that away from Ang… um, Elias. That didn't help him. It made him worse. Give those back to him and I'll try and help him."

Conrad gave Damir a calculating look and then finally said, "I will speak with Syrus. Ultimately, that is his decision. I expect to see improvement in your brother soon. Is that clear?"

"Yes Master Conrad." Damir gave a quick, curt bow.

Their conversation concluded, Damir waited a little longer before returning to his and Elias's rooms. It had been awkward when he left. He did not want to return to that awkwardness. He wanted to wait for his brother to fall asleep before returning. He estimated his timing right and when he slipped into the place… with the rooms, his brother was sleeping. Go team Damir! Except, he felt extremely guilty for doing it. Cowardly, really. Avoiding a conversation with his own brother about denying him the use of a nickname that they had shared since… forever? Great. Just great.

The next morning Damir got up before Elias as he usually did, dressed, and headed down to meet Mentor Nikolai at the arena. Nikolai immediately set Damir to work at the Mook Yan Jong (*cough wooden post dummy cough*) dummy practicing his hand to hand combat. Time stretched on and Damir's worry increased. His gaze kept wandering to the pathway leading in to the arena in search of his brother. No sign. Another one of his glances cost him a smack to the elbow when his form strayed. "Ow!" He complained.

"Where is your brother?" Nikolai demanded.

Damir pulled away from his moves and rubbed at his now sore elbow. "I dunno."

"Keep practicing." Nikolai instructed and left Damir to, well. Keep practicing. The man… left, in search of Conrad. Yes he did. He found him easily enough. He bowed deeply to the master assassin. "Master Conrad." He greeted. "Angelius," he began.

"Elias," Conrad corrected, absentmindedly. Okay well Nikolai didn't know but whatever.

He accepted it and continued. "Elias has not come to sparring practice this morning. I know the boy is struggling but I'm not sure what else to do with him. Perhaps you can speak with him?"

Conrad's eyes flashed dangerously. "Thank you, I will speak with him." He moved past the mentor and stalked off to where Elias would surely be hiding. Oh yes. He's in trouble now.

_.xxx._

Well. That was it. He felt like a bomb had just gone off in his personal bubble, eradicating everything he could ever hope to know. So Damir's sparring partners thought he was a stupid child who called his brother "dad." It figured. _His _partners just thought he was an idiot, but he wasn't slow. Not like that. Was he? How could he tell? It took a long moment before he trusted his voice to speak, and he never once looked up at Damir.

"Yes, I understand," he said, repeating a phrase he'd said to Mentor Nikolai so many times now it almost felt like a lie. "I know you're not Father." He paused a moment, reflecting. "I…don't think I ever called him that." Father had been Father, or sometimes, rarely, papa. Only Damir had been Da, the stabilizing force in his life so like a father, but not replacing _their _father. He rubbed at his forehead, a gesture that would soon become habit if he wasn't careful, a tell for discomfort or unhappiness. Well. He didn't want to be called Angel. So. It was fair that Damir no longer wanted to be called Da. If he was getting picked on the way Elias was, he could completely empathize. It didn't mean his words felt any less like rejection of some kind.

The knock on their door ended the conversation as Master Conrad appeared like a specter in the night. Elias put his head in his hands and stared at the floor for what felt like an awfully long time.

Irriador was gone, and he wasn't sure he'd ever see the little stallion again. Mentor Nikolai tried not to show his frustration with the boy, but he knew it was there. Damir…well. Was Damir. Good at nearly everything. Except the horses. And now Elias didn't even have that. What did he have? He tried to think. Coming up with…well, not very much besides Damir himself, he shoved himself into bed, rolled into a ball to better protect the bruises he continually built upon day after day, and went to sleep. Bad dreams stalked him, blending from their father's death to Damir's own funeral, to Damir sneering at him and pushing him out the front gates himself. Would it be better to leave on his own?

Needless to say, it was not a restful night. When he woke, Damir was gone. To his lessons already, Elias assumed. It was all he could do to actually sit up. Once he did, it was as if he'd used his energy quota for the day in doing so. He dropped his head to his hands, fingers curling in his hair, and felt much, much older than his age. He'd been a failure before, he reasoned. All the time, in fact. But that day in the alley was the first time someone had seen something in _both _of them, not just Damir. And it was over. Had to be. He felt it in the churning of his stomach as nerves threatened to gnaw through his heart and into the open air. John would've been so disappointed. He knew it in his bones. Their father had always encouraged him, never outwardly bothered by his size, and only asked that he keep trying. Did it count as giving up if all the trying in the world didn't make one bit of difference?

And…perhaps, was it worse? He'd disappointed Conrad.

Damir.

_Would _Damir be disappointed? Relieved? Elias knew for certain he was a burden to his brother at this point. Unable to help with his horseback riding and too far behind to be useful in physical studies, he was…emotional baggage. Wouldn't Damir be able to focus better with him gone? Perhaps now that he wasn't _quite _so tiny and pathetic, he could get work down in the city and visit sometime. Maybe he could send Conrad some…money. Or something. To cover the expenses he'd wasted trying to turn a shrimp into a shark. Because that is a great seafood metaphor and YOU KNOW IT.

_.xxx._

Nikolai's report was concerning, to say the least. After his little... talk with Damir the previous night, had he gone and told his younger brother what was to happen if he didn't show improvement? It wasn't meant to be a threat, but to a 14 and 11 year old it would seem as such. Conrad mulled over that thought. No. Damir wouldn't scare Elias like that, he was smarter than that.

So why was Elias not in sparring? All apprentices knew that unless you were completely incapacitated to spar, illness was no excuse to skip your training. Elias had acted perfectly healthy the previous night. Conrad had spoken with Syrus earlier and his friend had said he would consider the option of allowing Elias access to the stables again. The way that Damir had spoken, the stables were important to Elias. Well obviously, all that grace that Elias lacked in the ring was upon the horses. Maybe there could be some connection made there that could help the boy. Time was running out. It needed to be soon. He would honor Damir's wishes and see just how the brothers could help each other.

Coming up on Elias's and Damir's rooms, he paused and took a moment to control any anger that might present itself. Naughty children or tantrum-throwing children were something that he did not have much patience for. Elias was struggling. He understood that much. Elias was trying. Things were not working. But there was absolutely no excuse to give up the day _after_ he had just given the boy a new name. None. That should have given him him some hope. Without so much as a knock, Conrad unceremoniously opened the door. "Why are you not at sparring, Elias?" He inquired. He kept his tone level and awaited an explanation, and it had BETTER be good, Buster.

_.xxx._

The silence and his churning thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the door. Damir wouldn't dare skip out on training to come back, which told him well enough who it was. Elias didn't look up at Conrad. It was like he felt the storm coming, and was now perfectly okay with the lightning striking him off the map. He's very morose, okay. Give him a break.

"I think we both know it won't do me any good," he said, and his voice sounded strange to his ears. Exhausted. Older. Different. "I can't understand. Mentor Nikolai gives me an instruction, and somewhere in the space between my ears and his face, it gets…jumbled. I don't know what it is. I can't fix it. Not his fault," he added, quick to defend the Mentor even though he was not very easy to work with seeing as Elias hardly ever had correct form on the ground. "It has to be mine," he muttered, almost to himself. Still completely stuck to where he was, he tried to look at Conrad, and couldn't manage it.

"I let everyone down," he said, for the first time out loud. Himself included. His best just wasn't good enough, and even though it wasn't the first time he'd faced it, this time, it cut deeper. He felt like he was stuck at the bottom of some stupid, stupid dark pit and had no way to get out. "I'm sorry, Master Conrad," Elias said finally. "It wasn't my intention to..." His voice trailed off. Suck at life, the universe, and everything. Yeah. Well. It happened. He waited for Conrad to do something. Like. Throw him off a cliff. It seemed appropriate at the time.

_.xxx._

Ah, children. They had a difficult time grasping the future. Or at least in Elias, he was having trouble putting hope in the future. Conrad couldn't exactly put himself in the boy's shoes and view it from his perspective. He still could not figure how having given him the new name should have given him something of a fresh start. Bolstered his morale and given him _some_ new hope for the future. This here, was the epitome of Eeyore. It wasn't much like Elias to act so overly dramatic. What had spurred it on? Where was the drama coming from? Some of the frustration leaked through. He didn't have time for this. Especially given that, he had little doubt that Syrus would deny Elias stable privileges again. The boy was an excellent student there, at least.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and he exhaled a slow breath. "Elias," he said quietly, his tone neutral. Patience with disobedient children is a virtue! "You will get up. Get dressed. And go to sparring. Right. Now. I will not have any of this. You are better than this." He moved dirty clothes aside with a sweep of his foot—oh, Damir would get a talking to for that—and hauled Elias to his feet by one arm, though his grip was gentle. "Now. Move." He commanded curtly, his voice sharp. He released his hold on the boy and pointed to the door.

_.xxx._

The gesture reminded him so much of his father that it was almost physically painful to be pulled to an upright position. How many times had he seen that frustration? _Don't give up. It doesn't matter what anyone else says!_ Conrad could not replace John, he reminded himself. And he most likely really didn't want to. Cuz. Honestly who would, wtf children. So, since he'd so nicely moved Elias into a standing position, he…stood there. Completely and totally unsure of how to tell Conrad no, I don't think I'mma do that. Thanks for your concern. Plz to contact customer support if you have any questions. Ask for Jamie. :}

"Conrad," he said, completely forgetting himself in his pile of sadness, "I _can't. _I _want _to be good at this. Don't you understand?" Some tiny flicker of anger sputtered to life somewhere deep inside him. Like Mordor. All it takes is one. And then, like he'd been quiet too long and built up a reserve of words, they decided now was a _great _time to escape.

"I know I'm not doing well, I know I'm disappointing everyone who put any faith in me, especially you…and you wouldn't know, but you're the _only _person who has _ever _thought I might be worth something, besides Damir and Father, and I…it…it…" He wanted to punch something. Words were hard. "I just wanted to live up to the faith you put in me," he said finally, still 20000% too scared to look at the man. How do you look into the eyes of your idol, whom you know you've now annoyed _and _disappointed? It just wasn't happening. Elias waited, some semblance of fear curling in his chest that he really, really, might have to leave now. Would he get to say goodbye to Damir? The thought nearly broke his heart. But he'd want his brother to stay. Damir was good at this. Damir…could be somebody. Somebody great.

_.xxx._

Conrad's eyes narrowed dangerously as Elias missed properly addressing him as all apprentices were supposed to, but as the words tumbled from the small boy's mouth his expression softened. His request yesterday was only a minor piece to Elias's resolve, it would seem. It was cracking. It had been for a while. There was more going on. Teasing was a given. It always would be. For one so young it _shouldn't_ have been the case. He had put too much pressure on such small shoulders because his attention had wandered and he was not paying as close attention as he normally _would_ have to his apprentices. His assassins. That brought about guilt and anger at himself.

Elias excelled with the horses and that had been ripped away from him. Where it most counted as an assassin, this child felt like a failure. Elias felt like he had failed himself, his brother, the Brotherhood, and him. Conrad saw so much of Damir in the boy at that moment. Trying to take the weight of the world on his small shoulders. A weight he simply could not bear alone. A family trait then, he took it?

The master assassin knelt and placed his hands on Elias's shoulders. "Elias, this life is difficult. You have started out younger than most. I chose you. For a reason." He said softly. "Giving up now would disappoint me. Would disappoint Damir." He straightened and looked down on the boy. "Syrus is to meet with you. After you have met with him, you will go to sparring with your brother. Is that understood? You will not like the consequences if I find you in here again when you should be at sparring." Boy howdy, would that boy _not_ like the consequences at. _All._

_.xxx._

Funny, isn't it, how a few words can completely change the course of things? It was like the sun suddenly shone again where there had only been darkness before. For a young boy, it was a very dramatic moment and immediately seared into his memory. It was the first real challenge in his life he had been ready to give up on. In anything else, he was entirely tenacious, determined and...well, let's not say focused because hello, 11 year old here. But this...a real, true challenge, and Conrad had snatched him back from the brink of failure. In an instant, he went from feeling as if he had already let everyone down and was only fit for the scrap pile, to realizing that giving up _would _mean he was only fit for said scrap pile. While it might not be good enough, trying mattered. Trying mattered to Conrad. Like it had to Father. And to Damir. Damir never stopped trying, and he hadn't exactly chosen this life in the first place.

The mention of Syrus brought light into his eyes that had been gone for months, well and truly flattened with endless repetitions of complete and utter failure. "Irriador?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe he might be allowed back to his beloved horse. Wasn't it a fitting punishment for being a terrible, terrible terrible apprentice? Hope flooded his chest and he felt his attitude physically shift even as he totally tuned out the consequences bit because hey, not relevant. He wouldn't let Conrad down again. And Damir...need not know of this. Ever.

Still high on his fluffy little cloud now that the assassin had seemingly hauled him out of the bottomless pit, he gave in to the urge he'd had earlier, and hugged the older man. "Thank you," he said, although the words might have gotten eaten by the copious layers and weapons lurking on Conrad's person. Before the moment could turn (more?) awkward for Conrad, a horses' scream split the air. A certain black stallion had arrived home again and, finding little scent of his friend, was not. Happy. For all his stumbles and utter lack of grace in the ring, Elias dipped around Conrad like someone practiced in the art of no-grabby-grabby. That would be evasion. Words mean things. Skidding to a halt at the door, he whirled around and dipped a bow to the assassin and managed to spit out another, heartily grateful "Thank you, Master Conrad!" Before he turned and _ran. _There was a shout, the sound of wood breaking, and hooves on cobblestone as the irate horse came to find his human.

Considering he still had quite a ways to go in the height department, it was lucky he managed to be fast regardless. Something else that apparently failed him in the ring when faced with a smirking douchey child ready to pummel him into the dirt. One would think it'd come out even more strongly at those moments, but one would be _wrong._ Syrus' voice rang out over the Castello as boy and horse met again for the first time in months-and of course, because Irriador had not forgotten and Elias had not lost the strength required, the horse charged him, and he caught mane, just as they had that day in the ring before everything had gone to utter shit. Though Irriador had lost some weight in the stressful absence, Elias fit just as neatly and snugly as before.

"_You scrawny little beast! Get your ass _back _here before I fillet it for dinner!" _Syrus was not happy with the. Um. Utter destruction of the fence. Rather than go over, as the little stallion still had a ways to go in the height department, too, he had just...gone _through. _ His voice could and did carry all the way up to their rooms. Good thing nobody was home, huh? Except Conrad. Oops.

"I'll fix it, Syrus!" Elias called out to him from Irriador's back, and he meant it. For the first time in many dark months, he felt powerful again. Like he could do something.

"You _will, _or…" the man paused, watching the two of them come racing back down the hill. He sighed. Okay. Maybe a broken fence was worth it just to see the confidence come rushing back to Elias. Maybe. He truly hadn't liked separating the two of them. His warhorse was his pride and joy, and losing him would be like losing an arm. And both legs. And everything else. He could sympathize. Still… "You were supposed to be here an hour ago," the assassin said, his voice clipped with equal measures annoyance and amusement. Elias just stared at him in utter shock. "If you _had been here,_" Syrus emphasized. "This would not have happened."

"Oh," Elias said.

"Oh, indeed," Syrus replied. He snagged Irriador's nose firmly in his hand, brooking no argument from the spunky little thing. "Go away. You have sparring to get to. Come back here when you are done and attend to this...this…" Iri employed fully puppy-dog eyes. Syrus scoffed at him as Elias slid to the ground. "Beast," Syrus finally settled on. More than happy to obey now that his horse was home, Elias turned on his heel and went to find Damir. He couldn't _wait _to tell him. Not the part about giving up. That he didn't need to ever know. But he finally felt purposeful again, and _that _he knew Damir would like.

_.xxx._

The hug, Conrad was a bit surprised by. No touching the master assassin plz. All he had told the boy was not to give up. That merited a hug? How? It _seemed_ to have boosted his spirits. (Obviously.) That and the implication that the horses-more accurately Elias's horse would be returned to him. Syrus would be the one deserving of the hug. Not him. It wasn't the first hug he'd received from apprentices. Why they felt the urge to hug him, he'd never quite understand, but it seemed to satisfy whatever need they had. Maybe one day he'd have an understanding why many of them felt it was a requirement upon certain circumstances.

He was grateful it was brief. Too long would require him prying the boy off of him which might make for even more awkward between the both of them. He was already uncomfortable enough. He blinked as Elias suddenly possessed the very assassin-y skills that they had all been trying to beat into his little body for months and just _vanished_. A second look and he could see Elias halfway down the path to meet his horse and Syrus shouting after it. The snapping of the fence had him sighing and dropping his head into a palm, rubbing at his eyes. Lifting his head again, he caught sight of the discarded cuff that Damir had thrown earlier. He collected it and frowned in disapproval. Not being properly taken care of. That needed to be corrected. The assassin tucked the cuff away in his stash of pockets, shut the boys' door behind him and left.

Damir's furtive glances to the entrance of the arena continued after Mentor Nikolai left. Had the mentor gone to drag Elias in by the ear? It wouldn't be beyond the assassin to do so. Damir practiced a few more moves but decided to take advantage of the lack of supervision. He draped an arm over one of the wooden arms of the dummy and as if on cue, Elias practically floated down the path into the arena. Damir could almost _see _little fireworks of joy emanating off his brother. "Let me guess… Master Conrad let you back into the stables?" He asked. Ha-ha, he knows things.

_.xxx._

Hugs were magic. Conrad just didn't know it. :} That sort of affection was reserved for the people he truly cared about, such as their father and Damir. Jillian had never received the privilege.

He found Damir practically draped over one of the practice dummies and had an instant flash of his brother as an adult-languid, relaxed, but perfectly dangerous if he wished to be. He practically bounded forward to greet him. "Technically, Syrus let me back into the stables," Elias said, his words running into each other with the pure excitement and joy. "_Irriador is back!_" He nearly vibrated with the happiness spilling out of him. And Conrad hadn't killed him. That was a plus. He didn't mention the hug. Nobody needed to know about that. At all. Ever. "I feel like I can breathe again," he said, suddenly sounding like his older self. Who was coming. Later. And for the first time since they had actually started working, he looked at Damir. Saw the new muscle. The new...confidence? He liked it. And, another first, he was excited to try to learn this whole form, balance and combat thing again. He didn't know yet that he would still suck at it, just with a better attitude, but he'd find out. Poor shrimpy bby.

Syrus surveyed the damage and shook his head. He'd repair it. Irriador milled about the ring, suddenly completely docile now that everything was right in his world. Not even a single scratch marred his coat. Conrad wouldn't appreciate the destruction of the property, but, well...he was the one who had brought the boys here in the first place. So technically, it was all his fault. The thought gave him a strange sort of cheer as he worked to replace the shattered boards.

_.xxx._

Damir grinned at his brother, his own spirits lifting at the sight of Elias happy again. Master Conrad had listened to him. Which gave him hope… and a small sliver of anxiety. It meant that Master Conrad would be expecting Damir to teach Elias and expect improvement… most likely in the immediate future. Gulp. He recovered his smile quickly. "Good, maybe you can start helping me with the horses again? Syrus is a good instructor, but I think I have a better time working with you." Damir considered his options for a moment, "Want to help me today? I have a… um… another… session with Master Conrad after sparring, but then after?" Oh geez. (Goat cheese!) He was stumbling over it again. Elias was going to catch on and then he was done for.

He pushed away from the wooden dummy. "I'll trade." The taller boy walked over and picked up a set of short, thin sparring sticks. "I'll help you with sparring?" He held the pair of sticks out to Elias. "If you want, I mean," he added quickly. No need to shove it in his brother's face if he didn't want his help. Hey, come on now!

A short, shrill whistle, much like the one they'd heard forever ago in the alley where they'd first met Conrad put Damir in a panic. He thrust the sticks in Elias arms, picked up his own set and moved to a complicated set of beating the wooden dummy. _I was doing this the_ entire _time_, _I _swear. He furiously thought at Mentor Nikolai as the assassin stalked back to the boys. "Damir! I saw that!" Yeep. _Wrong! You saw nothing! I am the perfect student, Mentor!_

_.xxx._

"Yes!" Elias said, overwhelmed with a sense of relief that Damir still needed him, at least in some ways. While he was steady in knowing he would always need his brother, he wasn't always so sure it went both ways, though he did know Damir would always love him. At the mention of a session with Conrad, his head tilted and he eyeballed his brother with that telltale, curious I'm-going-find-out-what-you're-doing sort of look. "Hmm," he said. But he would never turn down help, not from Damir, and not for this. "That would be nice," he admitted. Perhaps Damir could phrase things in a way that made sense. Nikolai's teaching methods worked just fine for everyone else, but he sometimes struggled with...well. More physical things. It had taken him over a month (and no less than four sprained ankles and sore areas) to learn how to climb a tree, and then he had to re-learn with every other tree he wanted to climb. The poor guy was just not the most coordinated physical learner in the world.

Ever. Or at all. Elias looked at the sticks in his hands and sighed as Nikolai came stalking back. Oh goodie. Here it came. He listened more carefully than he ever had before, and he tried to follow the instructions given to the letter. Except for where he kept nearly falling on his face, couldn't hold his form for more than 10 seconds, and absolutely could not execute a roll or dive that didn't end in him slamming his face into the floor, it wasn't that bad. Really. (Yes, yes it was.)

He couldn't help the relief when it ended, though. As tempting as it was to follow Damir to see what his "sessions" with Conrad were about (come to think of it, the older boy hadn't actually ever said what they DID during these times...), knowing that Irriador was back called to him more strongly than his curiosity, and so he went there first. Damir would know where to find him. He was determined to be hopeful about the sparring with his brother. Damir was doing so well, maybe there was something to it he just was missing. Somehow. A puzzle piece or a key his brother would be able to share with him. Now _that _would be nice.


	5. Chapter 5: But Not More Fun for Everyone

Damir ran from sparring practice as soon as Mentor Nikolai dismissed them, leaving Elias in the dust. Sprinted really. Trying to escape Nikolai before he could call him back and scold him for slacking off or get after him for something he needed "work on." Nope. Nope nope nope. He would rather suffer through yet another anxiety-filled session with Conrad. At least he thought that _now_. Always by the end of those he wished for the sparring practices back. He felt like he could never win some days.

He slowed as he entered the quiet building and prowled through the rooms in search of Conrad. He found the master assassin cross-legged in the middle of the floor of a relatively dark and empty room, again with Elias's dagger. He held the dagger flat over his forearm examining the steel at an angle.

Damir, so used to having the man tower over him stopped in the doorway and stared. Seeing Conrad on the floor like that seemed so… _improper_. It was… odd. Almost wrong. He shook his head and quite conveniently forgot his place. Their time spent together in the quiet of Conrad's…. quarters, let's call them, sometimes Damir forgot himself. It didn't happen too often, but hey, he's a teenager and teenage boys seem to like to forget things. A lot. And I mean, come on. Conrad was on the _floor_. You can forget that he's the leader of an entire army of assassins when he's chilling on the floor like that. Damir entered without asking permission, didn't bow, NOR greet the man. Waltzed right on in, stalked over and bent over to examine the dagger with Conrad. "Is that Elias's dagger?"

Conrad looked slowly up at Damir and arched a brow. "Yes." He said simply. They locked eyes. Stormy gray clashed with deep blue. Damir blinked. Oh. Uh. Oops. He shuffled back a few steps and bowed quickly.

"Sorry." Ah, eloquent. "Master Conrad, I'm here for my training exercises." A chance look up and he saw that Conrad was pointing at the fenced area with the poles, his eyes back on the dagger. Ugh. Great. Damir straightened. "Um, Master Conrad?" Filler words. Damir was pretty good at those. Conrad hadn't quite yet beat those out of his vocabulary. "What are you doing with Elias's dagger?" The adolescent continued.

"Fixing it." The master assassin stood and tucked it away. "Your father promised to teach Elias how to throw it, is that not what he said? It's not built to be thrown. I have been working with a bladesmith to fix the weight and strengthen the steel." He explained. He waited for a few beats before giving Damir an arch look, "Isn't there somewhere you should be?"

Damir debated whining at the man but had knew his free passes were up for the day. Or the one rare one that he might ever get in his lifetime. So instead, when he thought Conrad had turned around he dropped his head back and quietly groaned at the ceiling, dragging his pitiful little feet across the floor. "Don't be difficult, Damir." Conrad's voice echoed from behind him.

Damir gave a low growl of frustration and stomped out to the poles, kicking at one as he did. Which hurt. "Damir."

"What?!" His voice cracked. Conrad appeared in the entrance, an odd expression on his face. "What was that, Damir?" the words were somewhat clipped.

Damir sighed. "Sorry. What, Master Conrad?" He amended.

"I would like you to focus on the acrobatics this time. Without the blindfold." He held out his hand. Damir stared at Conrad's hand and then up at his face, fear written all over his own expression. "Damir." The assassin chided.

"But that's not fair, I just barely started getting used to the acrobatics!" His voice cracked twice that time. Damir's face heated.

The corner of Conrad's lips twitched. "The blindfold, Damir." Damir finally, with a very sullen look, slapped the blindfold he'd had in his pocket in Conrad's outstretched hand. "You may begin." The man turned to leave and Damir hoisted himself up onto one of the poles, pouting all the way. Conrad stopped at the entrance once again. "Damir." The boy wanted to throw himself to the ground and die of frustration. He looked back at the tall man. "Your actions from earlier?" He gestured to the room behind him as if it signified the past.

Damir schooled his emotions. "I apologize for entering without your permission and not addressing you correctly, Master Conrad." More squeaking and voice cracking galore. What was going on?! The assassin nodded his approval and left Damir to his misery. Damir completely unaware of the smirk hidden under the shadow of Conrad's hood.

Damir had only fallen off three times, and he considered that progress. Conrad… did not. Falling only made Damir sit in a panic for five or ten or twenty minutes which wasted time. The time was shortening, but that was something! Damir rubbed at his bruised arm where he'd misjudged a jump and hit the pole and then hit the ground. Stupid pole. Off to Round Two of Damir Torture Class.

The stables came into view and Damir picked up his pace as he saw Elias and Syrus waiting for him. "An-" He started to call and then shook his head, correcting himself. "Elias!" His voice cracked. :}

_.xxx._

Syrus wanted to drag Elias off the horse and shake the shit out of him. What _happened _when he faced a human opponent? Did he forget which way was up and which was down? The boy on Irriador was _not _the same one who failed so miserably in the ring. He wished he could find the connection for him, just to make all of their lives simpler. Ducking inside the stables as Elias practiced ever more complicated maneuvers in the ring with the faithful stallion, he eyed the tiny stack of splinters he'd saved. Special. Just for a certain someone. The fence had needed repair anyway…but that wasn't the point. The _point _was that one of _Conrad's _charges had _ruined _his freaking _fence! _Irriador gave a friendly nicker, which meant Damir was approaching. He knew the boy's training was going well enough, considering how well and truly petrified he was of anything more than an inch off the ground.

But then…he heard it.

He popped out of the stable as if on a spring.

"Hello, Damir," he said, and almost purred with delight that the boy, required to answer, managed to greet him with just a little itty bitty precious crack in his voice. Oh, how he'd _missed _that. Goodness yes. It made his nerves tingle with near-delirious glee. Yes. Glee.

Elias tilted his head to the side like a dog hearing a funny noise, and shook it off as he came to the ground and Irriador turned away from them to give Damir space. "Hey," he greeted his brother. "You look…" he considered him carefully. "A little different," he said, narrowing his eyes. Ah yes, that would be the exhaustion of fear. Come to think of it, Damir often had that look about his eyes after training with the horses, something Elias had forgotten until just now. Hmmm, indeed.

Syrus wiped his hands on a rag, tossed it behind him, grabbed the pile of splinters (carefully) and began walking toward the main Castello. "Get to it," he advised the boys, and had to call on every ounce of training and dignity to keep from skipping to Conrad's office.

"Conrad," he said as he swept into the study. His keen hearing told him no one else was there, and he was perhaps one of the only people who could simply come into the office and talk at the assassin master. He deposited the tiny splinter pile at the edge of his desk. "A generous donation from your most…gifted student," he said, and then stared at his friend with unbridled laughter in his eyes. "Did you hear it?" he asked. Good times had come again!

_.xxx._

Damir's cheeks reddened when he noticed the near identical look Conrad had given him earlier on Syrus's face, but more prominent when he returned the horsemaster assassin… assassin master of horses… man… horse man… when he returned his greeting respectfully. |: What was so funny? And what the heck was going on with his voice? It seemed to function perfectly fine this morning. Or he'd _thought_ it had. Was he in denial? Maybe it had been doing this for a while and just so happened to blossom into a beautiful butterfly at the worst moment and go on a Godzilla rampage at his expense.

Damir raised his eyebrows at his younger brother. Conrad's eyebrow mannerisms… they had started to rub off on him. It was an impressionable age, it was. What was he supposed to say to that? He looked different? He hadn't changed clothes since earlier, not that they had much of a selection. Two sets of the same gray robes. For off-days that one set was being cleaned. "Sorry?" He apologized in a not-so-sincere apology but that apology came back and hit him in the face like a fish out of water. "Oh, um, yeah. Sor-" His voice cracked and he wanted to punch the… non broken part of the fence. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry about last night. I was kind of mean… I mean, about your name. And you calling me Da. I don't mind if you call me that, but maybe just in private?" He repeated his previous offer from the night offer and hoped it would clear the air between them. He gave Elias a sheepish smile then jerked his chin in the direction of Irriador, Stables &amp; Co. "I've improved a little."

The head assassin looked up as his old friend swept into the room. He laid the reports down and rested his elbows on the large desk. Looking at the pile of splinters, Conrad snorted and carefully pushed the pile to the corner of his desk. "Send him my regards. My gift in return will be fresh lumber to be cut and lashed together. The old way, I think. Those fences usually hold up nicely, more so than the current ones, correct?" He gave Syrus a sidelong look. He could tell that the other assassin was irritated about the fence but it didn't outweigh seeing the joy returned to the boy. Surely that would help with Elias's… suffering skills in the sparring ring. They would have to hope. A crushed spirit was no use in the ring. Or in the field. _Especially_ in the field. Mistakes could be made when the mind wandered while it was numbed in tandem with the ache of the heart.

At the question, a smile touched his eyes. "Yes. It took riling him up a bit to bring it out. I thought he would end up a choir boy." He gave Syrus an oblique look. "He was quite frustrated." Indeed, Damir's frustration was probably the most amusing part of the whole ordeal.

_.xxx._

That little flash of Conrad actually set Elias back a step. Truthfully, he hadn't really thought about how Damir might change, being here. Being around Conrad so much. And not their father. While he had immense respect for the Master assassin, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stand being around Damir if he suddenly turned into mini Conrad. He had enough to worry about with the… the… _accusing _eyebrows, okay.

Um," he said, uncertainty threading his voice for a moment. Irriador snorted, loudly, and he was able to brush it off. But for the magic of horses, he would be an even sadder, sorrier boy. Which would have been really hard to do actually. "Oh." The apology was soothing, although it didn't erase the incident entirely. "I don't want to be called Angel, you don't want to be called Da all the time. Easy enough," he said, repeating another phrase Nikolai kept telling him. If Damir was picking up Conrad, Angel was picking up Nikolai's vocabulary, because he constantly had it shouted in his general direction. Now, if he could just find someone to shout _goddammit, boy! _at... "So, it's okay," he concluded. Waggling his fingers at Irriador, Elias called to the horse, who of course immediately came over to sniff Damir's face. "You have?" Elias asked, excitement in his voice. "I haven't seen! Show me!" Because he'd been banned from any stable activities, he had no idea how far Damir had come, but was eager to find out. Now they could mutually benefit each other—him with furthering Damir's horseyness, and Damir with his…everything else. |:

Syrus waved a hand and slumped into a chair, something he rarely did as he was used to standing in Conrad's presence, and his legs were so cursedly long he tended to think he looked something akin to a damn praying mantis, all long limbs and cold eyes just sprawled every which way. Ah, imagery. "I took care of it," he said dismissively. "It was my fault for assuming the little terror would respect a fence higher than the shoulder. Of course not," he muttered to himself. His fingers brushed his face as a thought crossed his mind. "Just imagine if it had been Rok," he said, referencing the giant warhorse who was docile only for him. There would be no fence if that horse had a mind to take it down. Amusement warmed his heart and relaxed the hardened muscle in his deceptively lean body.

"I am sure he didn't mean for me to hear," the horsemaster practically purred. "So naturally, I had to…step out…and greet the boy." Oh, but if dancing in glee wasn't just a wee bit too undignified! The choirboy comment nearly, _just _nearly, pried a laugh out of him. "Perhaps it has taken longer due to the…altitude." He suggested. And schooled his inner cackling boy who never, ever, ever got tired of hearing another child go through puberty. Sure, the moods and general brattiness was terrible, but the voice changing? The. Best. Part. Since recruiting had slowed drastically due to the general unease and threats directed at the Brotherhood, it'd been some time since they'd had the pleasure of listening to some poor boychild cracking his way through lessons.

._xxx._

Damir… being more and more the teenage boy that he was, was losing that special skill he once had in picking up on the little shifts in his younger brother's mood. Most of the time he could still pick it out, but he was off in his own world at the present time. So he didn't quite pick up on Elias's similar inflection to that of Mentor Nikolai's and went on ahead with the fact that his brother had forgiven him and everything was right in the world again. Except for, you know. The bullies. But that was another time, another day. This was now and he was able to see his brother happy again with his horses that Damir had yet to find the joy in. He found more exhilaration in jumping from pole to pole. Probably because the poles were stationary.

When Irriador sniffed at Damir's face, he didn't flinch like he used to but tension settled comfortably in his shoulders. He took a few deep breaths as Syrus had instructed him to do many times before and pet the small stallion's neck lightly. He wasn't used to the horses approaching him, Irriador had typically been the only one and he'd been taken away since Elias's BANISHMENT from the stables. It was unsettling but he managed. "Okay," Damir vaulted over a section of the fence to go lead out a docile mare that Syrus had had him training with. He was able to pull himself into the saddle in a much more graceful fashion than he had those first few days. Much, _much_ more graceful fashion. Anything could have beat that. The mare shifted a few steps that made Damir freeze for a moment, fearing that he'd lost control. The same thing always happened. Exhaling a slow breath and forcing himself to relax, he took hold of the reins and nudged the horse over to Irriador and Elias. "Ta-da?" His smile was a little shaky, but a smile nonetheless. Prize for Damir!

Conrad couldn't hide it any longer. A small wicked smile graced his lips. "I cannot imagine a reason why you would miss greeting him after… that," a mischievous glint came into his gray eyes. "After all, it would be rude not to." The assassin straightened the documents on his desk. "Hmm, you could be correct. Altitude does interfere with the body in many cases. It has been a long while since it has occurred. To test this theory, we will have to keep a close eye on Elias when he comes of age. Health is vital to an assassin," he added plainly. It was one of the rare things that the master assassin did enjoy tormenting the apprentices with. Of course not their fault in any way, shape, or form, but quite entertaining for his and Syrus's benefit to say the least. They needed some comical relief once in a while. It was an amusing pastime in a lot of the serious things that they had to deal with in the difficult life they sometimes led. Some more than others. He and Syrus knew intimately.

_.xxx._

Growing up was hard, man. Especially for the two of them. Elias was gaining more and more sensitivity to others' moods and emotions, because they usually could clue him in on what was going to happen next. While his physical skills continued to suck massively, his mind picked up subtle clues more quickly these days. Something about. Being around assassins and whatnot. Hence the eyebrows. Watching Damir get on a horse, though…actually _get on a horse! _on his own! Without Syrus towering over him with a glare or just shoving him into the saddle-was completely fabulous.

"That's amazing!" he said, and noticed the tension in his brother's body at the way the mare sidestepped with him. Hmm. Elias pulled himself to Irriador's back and they examined the two of them, the stallion eyeballing the mare and the boy staring at his brother. "Way better than what I saw last," Elias said, grinning at Damir over his stallion's neck. His eyes skimmed over the mare. Solid, trustworthy, but she knew her rider was nervous.

"You're scaring her, you know," he said. "The way you're being tense. She's wondering why. And she's getting ready to be afraid, too. She thinks that _you _think something is going to try and eat her." Irriador nosed at her as if in reassurance. Poor lady horse. Your rider just doesn't know! "Just relax," he said, "we'll do the work." A nudge of his knee pushed Iri toward the mare, guiding her in toward the rail. With the stallion a perfect half-step ahead, she could only walk with them. Sprinting off into the distance was not an option. Elias wanted to put her through her paces on the safety of the rail, where Damir only had to hold on and focus on the ears in front of him. Maybe it would help. One never knows.

"Long and very thorough vocal reports are a necessity to evaluate the verbal skills of one so young," Syrus drawled, and then he just couldn't help it. The laugh rippling out of his chest was deep and rich, something that hardly ever saw the light of day anymore. It wasn't that he disliked his job, as the horses and the apprentices did bring him immense joy, but…well, there was always trouble afoot, and being happy seemed to attract more of its kind. His eyes drifted to those papers as Conrad straightened them, and he wondered how much his friend was withholding about all that was happening outside the Castello walls. Well. That was Conrad's job. There was a reason he did not run his own little Castello. He did not want to be the Master. He'd come a long way, and was content enough with the progress. More stress tended to be counterproductive. The dark thoughts chased the cheer from his eyes and he flowed to his feet in an easy motion. "An eye on Elias, indeed," he said, and left the tiny pile of fence-rubble on the corner of Conrad's desk. It looked like a tiny monument. To destruction, that is.


End file.
